All For Love
by radiolover1029
Summary: Antoinette de Lorraine: Comtesse of Chevreuse, ally to the Musketeers, and the adored lover of Aramis joins on the escapade established by the betrayal of Milady, the vengeful Buckingham and the tyrant who never ceases to leave her be- Richelieu. Can Antoinette follow her heart, save the day, and expose the tyrant or let her heart bleed for the safety of her friends? Aramis/oc
1. Chapter 1

All For Love

Chapter 1: Adversary

It was only midday do the Venetian merchants sell their wares on paved streets. Interlocking the woven buildings and streams dot the tiny vendors the size of small caravans. Dirt poor beggars swindle money, hiding their mug faces in between the rich palette colors of buildings. Small children chase after their mothers' prized chickens while the Italian greyhounds eager to run after them however chained to leather leashes by servants of lowly cavaliere.

Street performers such as those of the wretched Roma infiltrate the markets with their illusive contraptions. The burly pirated men interest the bounty of stolen treasures from other worlds while the gypsy women seduce passing patricians for spare coin. The twists of vibrant, awing color from their skirts sweep the gravel of cracked stone broke by Venetian sweat and blood.

Perhaps the "jewel" of the city of Venice was not the local markets scattered in between equally beautiful palatial residences of viscontes and widowed duchessas. Baladassarre Longhena's latest creation is yet to break ground in Venice. A new Catholic Church for the people to be hospitalized from the oncoming outbreaks of the Black Death and it's sister plagues. Demolition was yet to be ratified on the barraged estate.

Broken shards of glass and outdoor chandeliers crackled in the sunlight. Bird droppings sat ceremoniously on the front steps and decorated the adjacent cracks to the left side. A single shade bent out of place batted the window like an out of tune claronet.

As a woman, dressed in Venetian burgundy cloth topped with a feathered ostrich plume, cocked an eyebrow at the desolate and hopeless cause for sight unseen she averted her eyes to the changing of the guards prior to her arrival.

A fan, bought and sold through the old silk roads embraced cold chills coveting from the Grand Canal. The tell tale waterways danced boats and gondolas rich and poor under narrow bridges and sidewalks. The cool air brushed back the concealed woman's brunette curls. The tressels all perfectly in order moved in the disturbance of motion. The perfume dabbed on her neck and the ends of her hair wafted into the breeze.

Across the way mingling with the social people stood a dubious peacock of a man. His proud plummage recorded the incredible wealth and significant power he just recently obtained by order of the Church and Venetian Institutes. He over-elaborated the tellings of brave pursuits through wild gestures and consumed his crowd of servants, guards, and waiting-in-line mistresses' reactions.

"... And then of course for merit of reward the Bishop granted me the privilege to hold top security of Venice's oldest vaults," he said flaring his arms in stance. Swooning of women's gasps and their eager claps mingled with the other men's congratulatory responses.

The woman behind the mask of paper and constuction grinned sardonically as she tipped the hat to a side. A glint of gold and jeweled hair decoration shined in the Mediterranean sun. The angle of the sun hit its reflection from afar to the shoulder of the pompous _nobili_.

As the reflection caught hold of the nobleman's puffed sleeve, his eyes burned at the heat building up from his shoulder. The tiny glimpse of light distracted him long enough for his crowd of patrons talking amongst themselves- surely about him. At the moment he touched the blasted shard, it moved down his body and next to his left foot.

Foolish to think otherwise, he did not squash the brightness that interrupted yet another tale of his imaginations. Instead, he traced the lining of the light to the person who caused it. His sigh revealed a woman by the waterways with her back facing him.

Wisps of long brunette curls trailed her back, comforting the delicate hour glass figure trapped in bulbous brandy-colored skirts. A hand raised to his awaiting crowd.

The woman caught his gaze and sent a wink in his direction. Her fan, now hiding in her traveling purse with unknown possessions bowed her head back to the Canal and her water paths.

Her fingertips patiently counted the number of steps it would take to cross from point a to point b. Fifty three if he had measurable strength, sixty one if he had an old war wound lying limp, seventy and out of breath if his desperate need of attention equalled the amount of fast women he pursued. She betted sixty nine to her amusement.

_But He would make it in fifty one just for me._ She thought to herself as she counted the seconds away. Her pursuit ticked away and exact minute when he approached her. One hand around her waist and the other behind back, dying to untie the corsets and buttons underneath her voluminous curls.

He cleared his voice as if to attract the woman's attention from the Canal and it's high buildings. Her green eyes emerged from the sun to the quick glance at the Italian nobleman's features.

_Nothing I haven't seen in a while_. She commented.

"Precious _bella_. You are by yourself in Venice? And so close to the water, would be quite a shame to see a _nobildonna _such as yourself drown in these waters like a common cat," he pronounced on stage.

Her hands clasped together. Her velvetty throat echoed giggles. The tainted edge of a French accent bellowed in the greasy ears hidden beneath slicked back black mop of a head.

"Whom would say I would drown like a common cat? Never know if my home is by sea," she said thickening her vowels to the man's delight.

"A pretty mermaid I have caught," His lip curled. "An honored embellishment that would suit my seaside lodge in Sicily, _si_?"

The oriental flair of fan wafted again her scent to her captor. "I do not take well being decorated as a trinket in your seaside chambers, milord. Land does not appeal to me nor does you bedsheets," Her face steeled.

A grabbing hand twisted around the waist and the other played with a curl hanging by her ear.

His voice lowered. "Then perhaps another arrangement, no? What say you abroad my festive gondola for a little moonlight affair? Close to your beloved water and some vintage wine obscured in my reserves?"

Her eyes cast low to the water before observing the man. Her fan disappeared in an instant as it came. Her elbow nudged the man's lowering hand back to its proper place on her waist.

She smiled seductively. "My dear Lord, you offer me too much without the whisper of my name," She left his grip and lightly floated three paces away. She lessened her pace as she waited for the opportune moment.

"_Dama!_" he shouted. Her paces stopped. Her head cocked to the left at recognition. "What is your name?"

About face and she slyly strode in two paces back to her opponent. Her smile dazzled him as it did with her head oranament.

"Antoinette," she said. "Antoinette de Lorraine, Comtesse of Chevreuse,"

The grinning man offered his arm, which she gladly accepted. The Comtesse glanced back at the water and buildings surrounding it before smirking at the lustful man. "Now, about that wine?" she asked.

The wine was like she, bitter and reserved. However that did not stop the chortles of laughter erupting from the Italian man. The driver of the gondola intructed the few orchesterated men to play their lutes slowly as their master ate his grapes and downed his wine like a drunken fish.

His flimsy arm around her shoulder made few grabs for her bosom but after playful smirks and slaps on his back did he retreat his twitchy hand for the time being.

"And then! Only did then the beast of Cavalier shiver in my victory and set close his jaws permenantely. Antoinette fished a smile and delivered a hiccup from the bad tasting ale that swished in her mouth. Not only the wine and the stories staled her stomach but the stench of the Grand Canal's odor of waste and other bodily functions spat on its surface.

"You, my _dama_ Antoinette, are a jewel from Venus' womb encased by the sea. It is by my fortune I have plucked your from the seaweeds to rejoice in love and celebration of Venice tonight!" he exclaimed under the illuminous glow of distant fireworks and drifting moonlight.

She giggled on cue as she removed his hasty leg away from her thighs. "And you sir, do not know the meaning of patience and it's virtues," Her eyes twinkled from above. The drapery above her covered her eyes desperate need for an escape. The gondola sped away down the buildings and was on steadfast approach through a narrow canal.

Mummed whispers disturbed her earlobes. "Patience will not be the only virtue I wish to claim tonight if you give me your gifts of bearing knowledge,"

Her smirk curled the man's tiny moustache as she leaned forward. "A woman never reveals her secrets, especially one of French birth," she taunted.

HIs breath coated her eyelashes. She blinked profusedly to ignore the wandering hands caressing her calves.

"Let blood of shared noblility mingle tonight and we'll discuss compatible borders later," he said leaning forward to capture a kiss. To his chagrin, she pushed him away playfully and swinged her hand for an upbeat sonatta from the band members. Her wish was granted and she forced her tongue to swallow the bitter alocohol down her throat, if it were to prevail from Italian intrusion.

"You, woman, are infuriating," he chortled as he swished the bottle to let in more wine pour into his cup.

"Just the same as all men invoke their right to draw their naked weapon," she murmured far too low for the nobleman to hear despite his drunken chorus rendition of Scarborough Fair.

The night air dropped on occasion but too suddenly did it feel off balance. She gazed her eyes toward the moon watching for movement. That was until shadows emerged and blended thme together.

_I know you are there_. She taunted herself.

In a quick moment, a black shadow dipped from high on the rooftops into the drapery of the gaudy colors of the gondola. Short gasps and shrieks erupted from the men while she played her part up till now. Her breath matched her racing heart as a clothed man hooded from view disposed the gondola master into the wretched water. The instruments of the men were scattered away and their masters head was plunked by broken oars. The shadowed man easily threw the rest of the men into the water.

Antoinette grabbed the drapes fallen onto her and her scared _noble_ man and lifted them just as the clothed man stood over them. In a moment of heat, the _noble_ man drew his unsheathed sword ready for combat.

"I warn you, brigand. If you harm one hair on this lady's head-"

He was lovingly interrupted by the stoic response. "Key,"

He jolted a step back but did not break his stance with sword. He muttered, "I have no idea what you're talking about,"

Antoinette curled a piece of her wavy hair around her shoulder as she readjusted her uncomfortable position in the croweded gondola.

"Weren't you just recalling your heroic tale of obtaining the key to the Da Vinci Vault from the Bishop himself?" Her eyes cast upon the men as she placed a hand under her chin and a leg crossed over the other.

The flushed nobleman pointed the sword sharply at the intruder. "No my beautiful muse I was telling a wishful thought aloud to your aluring ears," His sweated brow disgusted her.

"That's what they all say," the shadowed man said.

The Italian leapt into battle only to grunt in pain as the man twisted his arm. The sudden flourish of movement dipped the man's head bubbling under the water by the wood of an oar.

Antoinette scoffed as she fixed her skirts from the blundering fool whose repelling all the wine to the fish, no doubt.

"Must you be so swift for the kill?" she asked drawing his attention, sticking a bare leg out.

He tipped his head teasingly. "Must you be so attractive?"

She pouted, leaning back into the boat. "I, unlike you, have a permenant trait that can't be so easily fixed,"

His eyes navigated to the bleak jug of wine she nearly chocked on. "Perhaps a drink might dull my senses," he said. He glanced at the reserve. "Twenty-four," he tsked. "Deserves to be drowned,"

He turned towards her as he flung the bottle into the water. She smirked at him, bracing the boat as it rocked from the flinging count. The oar let ease and the noble gasped for air.

"You mean this key?" He shouted for more air. The key wrapped around his neck was taken by slender, manicured hands. The shoulder pieces of Antoinette's dress were downing. The nobleman pleaded his hand for her help. She glanced at her captor and then back to the pathetic nobleman.

Her bosom peaked out of her dress as she leaned down. "This is the last and only glimpse you have. Engrave it in your mind," she whispered as she pushed him in.

The shadowed man dropped the oar and didn't bother watching the fleeing nobleman swim for his life. Antoinette let her fingers drop down the hood he had on. The handsome face of French skin framed inside his attractive black hair and moustache only a Frenchman could be proud of. The souls of his eyes did not wander like the other man, instead they gazed straight into her soul.

"Must you be so swift?" he whispered underneath their drawing breaths.

Her mouth parted. "Must you be so attractive?" she voiced.

Aramis, the devine Musketeer, took his advantage to hold his Antoinette closer to his person.

"Let us remedy both our flaws. I have ten minutes," he said seducing her under his spell.

"Then let's not waste them, my love," she smirked as he captured her heart and her lips all at once.

He swooped her away back onto the velevet cushioned seats as their mouths tangoed in their own sonatta. Her legs, bare and lethal, wrapped around his pant line, wanting him to beg for more. Aramis knew how to pleasure his lady without guilt on his conscience for dirtying the duty of a man of God. And so he allowed the both of them to tangle between the linings of the gondola underneath the stars and spending every second of heated passion within theirselves.

Ten minutes paced by and another five took Aramis and Antoinette to be presentable within the hallowed luxuries of Da Vinci's prized vault just beneath their feet. The checkered marble tiles echoed the quick steps of lady and man both rustled but still managable to face to depths and awaiting changing of the guards.

"Got lost?" A rugged man with a thick voice called after. Athos, mastermind of sword tugged his smile as he watched his fellow Musketeer rouse with his adorement.

"No, I say they took a little ride on the gondola," a sly voice came from Milady de winter. Her auburn curls framed the ostentatious ball gown and golden coronet mask she downed tonight. Tucked in between her bosom was the first key.

Porthos, a master of games and wit bellowed his laughter. "A ride on the gondola would surely involve the boat to tip over into the water leaving them wet. I see no drop of water in _view_ on either of them," His moustache curled elegantly.

Aramis offered a key in one hand and the other to his beloved. He turned to Porthos.

"Careful Porthos, the flames of heat seemed to have brought out a little green to your skin. Are you not well?" he said.

Porthos frowned. He grumbled, "Not well enough to land me a Comtesse,"

Antoinette gave a curt laugh as she shared a knowingly look to Milady. "If only wit matched your charm the perhaps we could find you a lowly baroness,"

Porthos rolled his eyes before consulting her with a brief hug. "Get better company downstairs then up here,"

She returned to Aramis' side, whom possesively drew an arm around her waist and his hand drawing circles in her hip bone.

The room darkened as the five of them marched the long demi-circular hall. Torches hanging from gold bearings with Italian insignias illuminated their paths. In correct order, three black and gold encasements surrounded three marble tiles.

Athos commented, "Da Vinci's Vault. Leonardo designed it to protect the plans of his greatest inventions,"

Three keys were produced and ready to be turned into the secret locks. Milady steadied her key.

"Shall we?" she asked. Her, Porthos, and Aramis dug the skeleton keys into the case. Upon Athos' command all three keys turned at the same time. Antoinette's eyes swam as the cogs of the star revealed ever turning and shifting gears sprung up. Tiles dived into the floor step by step until a grand entrance was opened up by the hidden staircase.

Milady took her step. "You part's done. Why don't you stay back with Antoinette? We'll meet at the rally point," Athos intervened.

Aramis felt Antoinette fluster. She squirmed in her discomfort. "And let the guards finish you off?" she countered.

Milady smirked. "We came together, we leave together," She patted his cheek. The both of them chuckled as she descended upon the stairs. Antoinette turned to her lover when they climbed down.

"You would never ask of me to leave, would you?" she asked pointedly.

Aramis' eyes wandered. She turned her head back to forward direction only to be emersed in his laughter.

"If it were up to me, you would never leave my sight... or my chambers," he drew back her closer at the end of the stairs.

She narrowed her eyes before smiling. "That can be arranged,"

One by one lights lighted automatically, shedding light to a elongated hallways. On either walls were grotesque masks of inhumane faces with mouths parted wide. The checkered theme tile ended at the beginning of a small chartman's room.

"I'll go," Porthos volunteered at the group's hesitation.

"Wait," Athos said preventing his friend from stepping on the radiant marble. "Too easy," He obtained a small hand dagger and threw it in the air. It banged and clattered on the wall and floor. It finally centered just when the pressure plates dipped down.

Antoinette flinched involuntary into Aramis as the masks spat out tiny maces that shackled and rattled like bullets. For only a moment did the clanging of weaponry rammed out until the rubble cleared.

"Pressure plates under the floor," Athos explained.

Aramis offered, "I could scale the walls,"

"Run a cable along the roof," Athos muttered.

Antoinette surveryed the roof. "Could be a trap too,"

Milady gave a curt nod and ran full speed ahead to the destroying chaos. One by one the masks engulfed smoke and maces nearly pertubing its way towards her. Her determination slowed its reaction and bent backwards to avoid oncoming destruction. Her body slid naturally to the ground and forward from momentum.

Upside down and without any more concealed weapons left, she giggled at the four of the troupe watching amused.

"Well we don't have all night," she bantered.

Athos and Porthos steadly picked up the pace in case of deploys hidden underneath their feet. Aramis' incorrigible want for her hesitated his mission. Antoinette rolled her eyes before dragging him along.

In the middle of the hallway, she turned towards him and brushed up against him. He groaned.

"We'll have plenty of time for all of that after the mission," she said batting her eyes. He kissed her forehead before walking side by side, holding her hand in his.

"The guards change in two minutes, maybe less," Milady said unscrolling papers with Antionette leaving Aramis and Porthos in charge for lookouts.

The bang of a loaded gun and the ricochet of a bullet hitting the bookcase of many scrolls sounded off.

Aramis said, "Less,"

Antoinette hurried her pace, undoing the bindings of each scroll, gazing at the plans before unceremoniously dropping them. Her fingers ran over more unopened ones.

"We need more time," she said as Milady covered another section.

Porthos asked, "What now?"

"_C'est la vie_?" Aramis said.

"No," Athos shot down. "Contigency plan,"

Antoinette plowed through the scrolls with Milady. "Has to be here... But where?"

Milady unrolled yet another paper and delighted herself with a small glee of excitement. Antoinette's eyes roamed over the plan briefly before Milady scrolled it back up. Her eyes waved over to the Musketeers.

"Got it," she said before stuffing it into one of the two black tubes for protection.

Aramis called for Antoinette. "I need your hairpin," he said gesturing to his explosives Athos was about to set off. Antoinette scoffed as she cleared the space away. He insisted, "I'll buy you ten more if we make it out alive,"

She smirked. "Who says we won't?" She handed out the pin from her hair. The curls dripped down her back as Aramis locked the pin at the last slot. She gazed up at the ceiling. She grabbed onto Athos' arm as he began to light the flame.

"Athos, you do know what's above us," she said nervously.

"Just hold your breath," he advised.

She held her breath and grabbed for Aramis' hand as the spark emitted and the small explosion blast into a whirlpool above. The murky water flooded the vault, the tunnel, and probably the building from the impact an drainage of the Canal. She covered her eyes at first contact and felt the lukewarm water dirty her skin. Her hand momentarily let go to push up for air.

The first breath of fresh air for Antoinette relieved her lungs. Her nose, however had gotten used to the smell as it lodged up in her nose. She gasped as a hand encased the small of her waist.

She could hear the laughter of Athos and Milady as they fit together like puzzle pieces in the water. Porthos' hearty chuckle brought the quiet yet deadly Comtesse de Chevreuse back to her senses and Aramis' inviting warmth.

His voice vibrated against her skin to the other lovers and the always jolly Porthos. "I hate to ruin the mood, but perhaps we could go elsewhere?"

Milady joyfully splashed Athos and Aramis for interruption. Antoinette's bell-like laugh escaped as she kicked her legs to stay afloat.

Porthos said, "You know Antoinette, for once, I think the _padre_ may be right,"

She splashed him cheerfully as he was dunked. Aramis' breath hitched to her neck. "What do you say, Netta?" He used his nickname for her.

She kissed the top of his nose affectionately. "I believe all of us are in desperate need of hot baths before any celebrating," she giggled as the gang crowded into a tight knit circle.

"Let us rejoice!" Athos decided as they swam for shore.

"We can finish what we started," Aramis whispered to her biting her earlobe.

She grinned. "Will your hunger ever be sated?"

An infamous Cheshire smile tugged at the corners of his lip. He kissed her longingly. "Never,"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

Disclaimer: Own nothing but Antoinette and plot twists, everything else goes to the actors, studios, and the great Alexandre Dumas :) Please read and review!

The cause for a sudden celebration after redressing led the group to drink Venice dry in her fountain of youth and booze. Hazy memories of Athos and Milady bantering while stealing drunken kisses across the table while Porthos charmed the bar maidens with few alluring words in Italian combined with French. Their giggles were heard from the other side of the room where Aramis stole away his lover in a dark corner booth. Her incessant giggling and his persistent lust amored them to heated conversation.

"Might we draw for the night, love?" he asked taking a breather and quick mouthful from his tankard.

She massaged his hair back from their steamy kisses. "Mhmm, right after I beat you at your own game. Two ales!" she ordered to the bar wenches. They delivered the frothy alcohol within moments, happy to have a full bar of eager customers.

He laughed as he held a grip on the tankard. "Might I inquire your intentions in getting ourselves drunk? Do you remember the last time we were lovedrunk?"

Antoinette's eyes checked the ale before bit her lip at the distant memory. A night's full of driven passion and longing with the warmth of alcohol flowing through their veins still gave her the shivers.

"I believe," she recalled squinting her eyes. "you broke the headboard,"

He scowled at her prudent teasing. "Don't forget you had tripped over a chair on the way to,"

Her laughing ceased as she gently prodded her nose where it had once been bruised. One bruise however did not stop the love Aramis gave off. She pouted as she swung her head back drinking in a stale beer.

Aramis left his untouched as he set hers down and drowned her mouth with his lips and dancing tongue. They stopped for another minute of rash breathing before hastily leaving the tavern up to the assigned room they were given only a day ago. Aramis slammed Antoinette's back to the door with a hand by her head. Hers were underneath his shirt and to the pocket he kept the inn key.

"Looking for something?" she giggled as he opened the door with the key before closing it and discarded the metal as he pursued Antoinette. Her back forcefully met the plush mattress of the bed and half of her corset undone when a sharp knock came from the door.

Aramis shouted something in Italian, more than likely curses but the knocks continued with rapid, fluent Italian. Antoinette rolled over the hovering the frustrated Aramis. She grabbed her robe and presented herself decent to receive a curt apology and a letter addressed to her.

She closed the door and inspected the seal on the back.

"It is from Papa," she glanced at the wax red seal of the House of Lorraine and the barony of Chevreuse.

Aramis sat up right with his head against the backboard. He groaned. "Why is it that your father always interferes when we are in the middle of something?"

She remembered the brief love spots of her and Aramis in her estate, in the barn, scandalously in the garden, and when he was there: in the palace foyer. She broke the seal with an envelope knife.

"He can be a nuisance but at least he doesn't forbid our affairs," she reminded him as he put his holy cross necklace on the bedpost nearest him. He grabbed his reading glasses and a pocket version of the Bible from his bag before adjusting carefully on the right side of the bed.

He said, "He certainetly knows our to turn off the mood,"

Antoinette swung her hips when walking toward him and sat in his lap whilst holding the unread letter. She traced patterns on top of the cotton white shirt to the opening of the neckline.

"You sure?" she asked as his gaze crossed between reading the Holy Word and his sinful indiscretion. His shaky fingers flipped through pages until finally his patience could not be found with her on top of him.

He closed the book abruptly. "Read the damn letter so I can take you without interruption," His lusty eyes wandered over her bosom and his hands fingered the back of her corset.

She paused at his worn hands searching for a quicker way to have his way with her. She opened the folded parchment and read in her head its lengthy words.

_Dearest Daughter,_

My concern to your sudden travels to Venice with the King's Musketeers leaves me in subdue disappointment. A lady bred of your value should not be involved with the masquerades of swordsmanship and talents far beyond the skills of a lady of twenty and five. Your upbringing should have taught you the propierty of honoring a man with your virtues at the marriage bed and raising wholesome children rather than gallivanting off with an excommunicated man of the cloth and run the risk of producing little bastards for my grandchildren.

Upon your return home, you will be under my supervision in Lorraine or attending to the Queen as a lady-in-waiting in the palatial residence of Paris. Fail to do so will put me in the disfortune to disinherent all the money and love I hold for you child, as you are the only brethern I have. What muddled trouble you have concocted in your haired brain of your future is yet to be seen.

All my love,

Claude de Lorraine, Duc of Chevreuse

Antoinette's eyes re-read the letter a second and even a third time. She did not leave the troubling words of her father even when her chest was exposed to the love from Aramis. A quick kiss to her shoulder awoke from her thoughts.

"Bad news, love?"

She nodded her head. She crumbled the letter and threw it behind her but still did not seem to be relieved or in the mood as she thought she was.

Aramis, sensing her distress, stopped his smouldering love to let her head rest on his chest, holding her in his arms. They lay for minutes in silence until her voice broke in unwanted sniffles.

"Father wants me home... or in court away from the Musketeers... and you,"

Aramis' hand smoothed down the frazzled curls as he lulled her with silence. "You don't have to do anything for now, my love. He is there, and you are here,"

She lifted her head. "But he threatened to revoke my title, lands, money, and all the happiness I ever wanted away from me. I would give them all up... if it meant not losing you,"

He rocked her back and forth like a frightened lamb in a thunder storm. He captured her essence he developed his senses for, knowing every emotion and twinge in her body by heart.

"No. Not for me," he whispered. "Military pay won't support us and our future for long, Netta. I will not let you revoke your birthright, something I was never offered, to gratify for my love,"

She clung on his shoulder for head support. She said, "What do we do if we are separated?"

His arms tightened. "We hold onto our memories in our hearts in hope we see each other again,"

All her life, her upbringing led her to be taught as a proper lady. To not fight. To not disobey. To not hope for love in her future hand in marriage. That all changed when she met the silent yet adventurous Aramis. A once priest turned swordsman to fight for the whole of France. Her beliefs turned quickly falling head over heels. Five years later she still felt the same love for him then as she did now, but only deeper.

She blinked away imprudent tears. Antoinette sniffed and laughed to herself reading the letter penned her father's words in her head.

Aramis sighed happy to find her not moping for long. Her little tucked away smile cast a glow in his woven heart. "And what pray tell, do you find so funny at this moment?" he wondered.

She glowed at him. "Father wrote how I should be laying my virtues to a faithful husband and giving him grandchildren instead of with you and risking children of our own,"

Aramis chuckled silently. "Well I am a man of faith. And children would not seem so bad five years in,"

She kissed his lips hastily. "Produce little 'imbeciles' ourselves?"

He returned a kiss generously. "A beautiful little Antoinette and a few dashing Aramises would decorate your estate nicely,"

Her jaw dropped and she hit him playfully on her chest. "A few? How many are we talking about?"

He muddled over the thought. "Three sons and two daughters?" he figured?

She buried her face in his shirt. "By the time they come out I'll be old and ugly," she mumbled.

He lifted her head to gaze into her eyes. "Never in my eyes. We'll be still racking at it well past our middle ages," he teased.

She tickled him at his sides and smothered him with a kiss. "Let us enjoy our good years first. Besides, you'll need father's seal of approval and a ring on my finger before I give birth,"

"I'll keep that in mind," he said rolling over on top of her, ravishing her until the colorful hours of dawn.

The next morning was not as blinding as the others soon thought it would be judging from the amount of alcohol and money spent on luxuries accordingly. Aramis had the outmost pleasure to bathe with Antoinette, have another round, and dress within the next hour. She sat on his lap with the dress he had chosen for her to wear: a crismon and golden lining strapped bodice with slimming, more flattering skirts for her curvacious figure.

With them stood the other three points to their five pointed star. Milady boasted in her turquoise and emerald velveteen dress with Athos pointing out locations to the quickest route to Paris. Porthos started to unstopper another bottle of wine for the morning meal. Athos tucked the black cased plans for the war machine in the foldings of his cape adorned on the seat he left unreserved.

Milady poured five chalices of wine Porthos drew to all of her colleagues. Athos proposed the toast.

"All for one," he announced.

"And one for all," they chorused. They clinged their drinks together before sipping the tasty original French wine they traveled among with them. Athos and Milady stayed at a grand hotel across the tavern, seeing as Milady's standards weren't as tolerant as the lusty couple on the seat. The Venetian carvings on the pillars opened up to the art covered ceiling of Catholic and golden visions of heaven. Chandliers of Borque style and white washed statues decorated the apartment lavishly.

"So what's next," Milady ventured.

Antoinette dipped her cup to her mouth before the cup disappeared to the next table away from reach. She glared at her lover as he said it was enough wine for the both of them.

"Back to Paris, I guess,"

"And then what?" she questioned.

"Wherever they send us, whatever France needs," Athos flourished.

From behind, Aramis moved Antoinette off his lap as he gathered their belongings off the table to be packed. "It's who we are. It's what we do," he explained.

Milady gazed at her cup with no interest. Antoinette knew she could never be a Musketeer but she had least knew the burdens and sacrifices each make to serve the King and France. Loyalty, courage, honor- traits Antoinette knew Milady didn't have. Despite their friendliness towards one another, Milady's track record bothered all honorable people but not Athos, kind and caring Athos.

She looked longingly towards her beloved with sadness and grief. "I do love you," she whispered.

"I know," Athos understood.

Antoinette felt her stomach cramp. She placed her hands at her sides, feeling nausea overwhelm her. Aramis caught her drift and took her hand that grasped the table. The strange tingling feeling of her legs going numb empowered her to lean forward for air.

"Then please try and understand that this isn't personal," Milady added. "It's strictly business. He made me a better offer,"

"Netta?" Aramis said concerned as she coughed rapidly and slowly knelt to the ground. Porthos felt around for a chair as his head rambled from the inside out. Aramis tried to shake his head from the same mind numbing feeling as Porthos searched for a gun or knife at the intruder Milady festered.

"Ah, Athos," a taunting British voice filled the room.

"Buckingham," Athos grunted as he felt his stomach and his heart being stabbed. All three men fell from lack of mobility. Antoinette crawled over to Aramis adn Athos, who hunched over in pain. Buckingham's face was hazy and multiplying. His poofed raven black hair matched his pompous clothes and inky black heart. She coughed again until her voice silenced.

Her hand reached for Aramis as she listened to the words Buckingham sneered at her and her friends.

"And the little girlfriend. Not brave enough to wither like the rest of her friends, I see. Oh well, she'll be begging for mercy from me soon enough," he chortled a quick laugh.

"A toxin," he drawled. "In case you were wondering, it wasn't in your drink, it was on your cup. Inactive until it came into contact with the liquid,"

Milady walked off without another fleeting glance as Buckingham welcomed himself to puruse the artifacts and weaponry. "Don't worry. It isn't fatal. Althought I suspect a part of you wishes it was. You take all the risk, and I get all the reward. Hardly seems fair.

"Just so you don't leave empty-handed, a word of advice. Trust no one, especially women. You'll live longer," Buckingham concluded as Athos rolled back to unconscious state of being.

He turned to the immobile Antoinette, head lolling back on the floor. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained, my dear," His gloved hand brushed against her lips and cheek. "Pitiful a woman like you can't work under a man like me," he bullied as he kicked her onto her side.

Antoinette's breathing shallowed. Her world no longer grew in multiple versions. it turned brighter than the sun, and then as black as night in an instant.

Darkness enveloped her in for what the world is to come.

Suspense! Oh I can't wait to get all my thoughts and ideas down for the rest of the story. Loved the movies and Luke Evans as Aramis. Amazing actor :) And just in case you are wondering, yes Claude de Lorraine and his titles are actual real land and peerage given to during the 17th century France. Thought I throw in some history in this to seem somewhat historically accurate :) Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Discharged

**Disclaimer: Don't own the Three Musketeers much to my dismay.**

**Chapter 4 will be outlined tonight and post tomorrow. Fingers crossed that the plan works! Enojy reading :) Please review!**

Medicine did not cure a broken heart. Only time. And as far as Antoinette knew, Athos and time were not on matching terms. Athos, the strong leader of the Musketeer trio, held nothing but cold feelings for Milady. Underneath all the bravado on the journey back, Antoinette could see the shards dislocated by the cruel numb hand of hers.

But talking to Athos was out of the question.

He was not made for sentiments. So, Antoinette relied on his brothers to steady his mind for her.

The day-long symptoms gave much time in the darkness to think. First of betrayal from their companion. How long had she known the plans would be dropped off to him? Yesterday? A week? A month when preparations were made? Next, the scum Lord Buckingham and his kind whom always seem to be a step above all the rest of Europe. With the drawings of a war machine in the hands of the British, France was a powder keg away to be destroyed within herself.

Lastly Antoinette bothered to shame herself with her father's letter. This wasn't how it was suppose to end up. She imagined the plan executed perfectly, Aramis and her would celebrate in their own ways without interruption, and a victorious return home proving to her father Aramis and she could take care of theirselves without sovergnity protections.

But that was just a fool's ending. Not all endings have to be happy, and hers was certainetly not.

They hitched a gypsy caravan from Venice to the French border. Past the border, they rode hard and long two days before stopping at a local inn for the night. It was there the first accusation was brought up by Athos.

The bar was half full with few occupants drowsy from their liquid. The quartet moved to a shadier side of the bar, away from whispering ears and squeals of bar maids entertaining their customers.

Athos and Porthos occupied one side of the table with two mugs each at their sides. Antoinette settled for a glass of white wine. Her partner traced the rim of his exported beer mug effortlessly.

Athos roused her out of her thoughts. "Did you know she would have done this?" he interrogated.

Her eyes narrowed as she sipped the remaining of her wine. "I know about as much as you do, Athos,"

His hand twitched a tighter grip around the tankard handle. "Oh yes, because you women don't keep secrets between the two," He laughed sardonically.

"Leave her be, friend. I'm sure the bottom of the well will keep your mind at ease," Porthos gestured the ale in his hand.

"So my best intentions were leading up to five years all for this?" Antoinette drawled. She steadied her wine on the table and fished her eyes towards the ring leader of the troupe. Athos didn't hesistate to finish off his beer. His greedy gulps were fervent to fire up his temper.

"I wouldn't know," he pondered. "Wouldn't be the first time a mastermind has befuddled our plans,"

"Athos," Aramis intervened.

Antoinette's hand pushed away the wine. Intoxication would not allow her to win this duel. "Perhaps if you weren't distracted by her backside you would see the trail of footprints she left," she accused.

"Antoinette," Porthos bantered.

"Tell me, were you the reason Aramis left the Church in order to pursue you?" Athos shoved his chair back to eye her down. Her face profused red, but not from the heat or the escalating blood alcohol levels. She suppressed the memories surfacing from beneath locked deposit boxes. As her knuckles shed white, her throat tightened.

"Wasn't it Milady who nearly cost us the mission in Belgrade?" she threw back as a last ditch effort but it was pointless as her guilt came through.

"Enough!" Porthos bellowed. "No need to draw more attention to ourselves," he beckoned for a refill of beer to muddle Athos' thoughts. Athos gladly accepted the new tankard and spilt half of its contents down his throat. His beard caught trickles of the liquid and his eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights.

"You're right, I may have been blinded for love, but I can assure you I'll not make that mistake again. Especially to Comtesses," He aimed that straight to Aramis as if to make his point clear.

Her voice cut off as tears pooled at the corners. His hatred for her was meant to Milady but somehow in the crevices of her mind she knew Athos held unresolved suspicions and disapproval for Aramis' choice in her. Hurt etched on her face, she tucked back her seat and walked off. Her footsteps trailed behind with heavy heart as Aramis called her back.

"Netta!" he begged. When it was clear her body had no mind of its own to return, he released his grip on his drink. He knocked away Athos and Antoinette's drinks to the ground. The tankard's metal thundered on the floor while the wine glass ricochetted one time before breaking on impact. Porthos retreated away from his brothers to the bar table for company. Athos slammed his curled fist to the table in fury. But not even Aramis could find kind words to his broken friend. His kindred spirit darkened like a dead candlelight.

"Friend, I only wish you could heal your scars shortly before you drive our brotherhood apart," his voice lowered as he stood against him.

His companion allowed a regurgitated gurgle. "Go ahead. Side with the-"

A definite crack to the nose alarmed the patrons in the tavern.

A single candle glowed in the suite. One pile of books with black coverings and gold letters accompanied reading glasses and a beaded rosary. The other side held masked weapons and unloaded guns on top of small keg powder pouches. Antoinette's traveling case sat on top of her lap as she lamented her sorrows in her belongings.

A golden perfumed case holding a picture of her deceased mother, a short paper listing her family tree, and a hand sewn handkerchief embroided with a cut clean black A were laid across the table. She opened the case to see her mother's radiant smile lift the portait. If anything she inherited physically from her mother besides her signature brunette tressels, was the infinite smile. Small dipples, barely detectable, were dull curves on her cheeks.

She discarded the family paper to the side as she made conenctions to the handkerchief and pocket perfume case. Five years ago, the two items wouldn't be as significant to her. Now they were the things she took out only in her saddest of times. She inhaled the dull scent of mint leftover from years of storage on the napkin. Her finger traced the elegant loops of the A.

It was a only a moment her sorrow lessened until a knock pounded on the door. Her reasons for revealing the objects at hand flooded back those unwanted memories. Antoinette riled up the emotions and stuffed them further down the grooves of her restless brain.

"Go away, Aramis. Don't want to associate with the town floozy," she called sardonically.

The loud chuckle behind the door guffawed louder as the intruder opened the door. "It's good thing they all reside back home in Paris," a care-free voice laced with traces of alcohol echoed.

"Porthos?" she wondered.

"Aye, the one and only," The gentle giant flourished with two glasses and a bottle of wine he carried. "Have you ever noticed wine losses it's appeal before midnight?" He sat himself next to her, already uncorking the bottle. The small pop resided with foamy bubbles at the neck into her glass before disapparting. The burgundy bitter taste alluded her taste.

Sharp and numbing. Perfect for drowning haunts.

"No," she said. "But I have noted the more wine you consume, the worse the headache," she added sarcastically.

Porthos waved her away with a flick of his wrist. "As much as your sarcasm amuses me, talk is cheap. Drink up!"

The merriment of clinking glasses vibrated the dull ache building in her forehead. The consummation of more fermented wine buzzed and tingled down her spine.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Not trying, succeeding!" He poured another glass full for his friend. Antoinette could not recall how she forced a glass full of wine down her pipe in such a short time. She shrugged it off, filling her mouth with familiar French burgundy.

"As long as my inhibitions are still intact," she slurred at the beginning before shaking the feeling off.

He shook his head feverously. "Nah, that's reserved for your beloved priest," he joked. For a minute the lovable Porthos sobered up as he neglected his glass. "He's talking to Athos- Aramis is. You know Athos never meant those things,"

Her mind did not recognize his words. She mulled the wine over, spinning it around the bottom. "Antoinette?"

She sighed too many breaths. "It'd be easier to forgive then to forget. And for that I can understand his pain. No matter how much she did to betray us, he'll always love her,"

He recalled, "A blessing and a curse on all of us. Be better to bond with his alcohol then to ever love another woman," The bottle remain half way empty by the time the both of them finished a second glass. Neither of them spoke, they let the sounds of the glass speak for them for the shortest of minutes.

"When we return to Paris, I'm not staying at the boarding house," she confessed.

"Is it because of Athos? A row with Aramis?" The one thing about befriending a gentle giant is his heart on his sleeve for those he is closest with.

"No, no," she sighed. If only it were that. "My father is holding my well being hostage homeward or assist the Queen. This is just the tier to the trip," She gestured with her rising hand.

Porthos clasped a hand on her shoulder, a vice-like grip. "Life is like riding a horse. When in pursuit, the steed will eventually sore and tire till it drops dead. A rider must overbear obstacles all the time on horseback but eventually trades the tired horse for a refreshed stallion,"

"So...?"

He explained, readjusting the bottle, "So, living in the palace doesn't mean you're giving up anything. Think of it as the fresh start. Athos won't be mad for long, trust me," His reassurance lasted long in her mind.

A sip to her lips made her want to spit it out. His confusing metaphors did hold some truth. The life in a palace could be exciting, and not necessarily sealing her fate. She giggled as she asked for more wine.

"I bet that's what you say to all the women,"

"Only the ones with the name Netta," he said. "Now you, little one, have run my time and wine out. However shall I charm the women now?" He gestured to the barely there remainings of the wine he took time and consideration to pick out.

"You can start with a bath. You smell wretched," She punched her friend in the shoulder.

"Ahh, your words never cease to amuse me," His hands went over his eyes.

Antoinette snapped her fingers. "Knew there was a purpose to my part of the group,"

The tap of the door sounded off. The annoying creak gradually led to a crescendo. Porthos eyed the stranger before grinning like an alley-way cat.

"Ah! And in good timing, Aramis, my friend! I have drunken your woman up. No need to thank me," He puffed his chest before taking his glass and the wine bottle away from Antoinette's needy hands.

Aramis pinched the bridge of his nose. "Good grief. And I exactly wanted to attend Church tomorrow, not babysit three hungover tykes," He gestured back out of the door.

"Three?" slurred Antoinette.

His disgusted cry gave way to his disapproval. "Athos decided to drink the town dry with the help of his new found 'friends'. I'll let his indiscretions last for tonight," His hand let go of the trench cape he wore onto the back of a chair. Aramis' hand glided to her hand surrounded the bottom of the glass.

"Blah, blah, blah. Where are the women?" charmed Porthos slamming the door behind his retreating figure.

Drunken giggles broke from Antoinette's throat as her head threw back.

"Hahaha," she laughed.

Aramis took matters in his own hands and drained the contents of her glass down the side of the building out of the opened window. A cool breeze shivered Antoinette.

"That's enough for you, darling," he decided.

"Just one more!" she begged.

"No,"

"Fine, see if I love you tomorrow," She collapsed to her side of the bed, pouting. He climbed in after her, taking off his boots and shirt. His hand traveled from her backside to around her waist. He lifted her figure next to his chest.

"I can already see you declaring your despise for me come morning. Let's just survive the road trip back," he said kissing her forehead. A hand smoothed back her frazzled hair. Antoinette felt his kisses trail from the side of her head to her clavicle. An unsteady hand pushed him away and rolled away from his wandering mouth.

"Ohhh no. No drink, no sex,"

"Antoinette!" he complained.

"Nope, not even an inch closer," said Antoinette out of her stupor.

"Infruriating,"

"It's a reason you love me so much," she purred.

"More like put up with you," he mumbled. A quick slap of her hand hit his sore chest. "Thought you said not even an inch closer?"

She sucked in a breath. "After five years, I can't believe you would twist my words," Aramis drew her closer to him. "But that doesn't invite you any closer," Her eyes closed as she smiled.

Another long day of riding and a short break led the horses race until the wee hours of morning the next day. Sunset in Venice was beautiful but sunrise in Paris illuminated. Pastel colors exploded ranging from dark purples to the tell tale golden liquid next to the rays of the sun. Peaking just besides the towering palace, the incoming rays liquidfied the town from the darkest corners to the running streams. Bridges gleamed up close when four travellers and their horses crossed each one.

The sleepy towns awakened with business, personal or strict. Friends passed through jolly as ever. Women scattered holding babies, things to buy and sell, and taking care of their personal belongings.

The aromas of street sold bakery goods grumbled in the stomachs of women and in the pockets of men's coin purses. Children giggled as they played tag and pointed to magnificent toys venders sold. Puppet shows around the Notre Dame were told in silly songs the children seem to know.

"Back to Paris," Porthos boomed.

"Another day, another reason to protect France," Athos said as he led the group a series of turns to the district the Musketeers resided. Convienently it was two blocks away from a brothel in one direction and a Church in the other. A stable to the right of the apartment block opened up by the mighty hands of Porthos. The home consisted of a top balcony and earthy colors. On the outside it was nothing special as the other unique buildings. In the inside Antoinette took charge as the housekeeper and kept the men in tow of their messes.

However as Antoinette charged down to the ground, she petted her black beauty of a horse. Rosemary, the horse, snuffed as she was guided away from the stables. The three Musketeers, with their horses stalled away, came out with their things in hand.

"This is where we part," she whispered not looking any of them in the eye.

"We'll leave you to it," Athos sensed.

That night was forgiven. Athos treated Antoinette as he would with the upmost care. She needed not an apology as they both said things unforgettable and hurtful. Porthos offered a small smile and he descended into the house with Athos.

Aramis guided her into his embrace, breathing in her scent one last time. "We won't be separated for long. There's a summoning for us at the palace tomorrow,"

She smiled sadly. "Let us hope I will be able to see you,"

"The Queen is kind," he reassured.

"I meant Richelieu," Aramis' eyes hardened. The Cardinal of France held true power to the kingdom. The King was young and naive. He was not raised to be King the right way. His young bride Queen, with no experience in French politics could offer nothing but the bond of their marriage to unite Austria and France. With no true sovergn, the Catholic Church annointed the Cardinal with much power and military afflictions, that the people are too scared to revolt.

It was not Richelieu's history that frightened Antoinette and annoyed the Musketeers, for they were appointed to serve the King. It was the decisions held in his hand that affected the future of France.

For her, the Cardinal had the power to take away the Musketeers or alliance her to marry a man for politics. Something she nor Aramis desire the results.

"I do not feel at ease with that man around," he replied sternly.

"He's my superior next to the Queen. He holds the power to banish me out of Paris and back to my father's residence. And I'll do everything to secure a position here," Antoinette held head high.

Aramis' forehead connected to hers. His eyes, dark and sometimes terrifying to people, held nothing but concern in her eyes. "Nothing sinuous,"

"Of course not," Aramis leant in to kiss her but stopped as his head turned round. "What?"

"Jussac," His stoic face returned.

The henchman to Rochefort, who was the right hand man to the Cardinal, sat on his steed overlooking the couple, smirking. Aramis held her hands in his tightly.

"The Comtesse de Chevreuse is to accompany with me," he said amused like a cat catching a mouse.

His eyes narrowed. "She doesn't have to go anywhere with the likes of you," he sneered.

"Orders from the Cardinal, Musketeer," he gritted his teeth at the title.

Antoinette held a hand on his chest. She was more than capable to handle men like Jussac. With his bleached blonde facial hair standing at ends, his horse reared to go. She nodded. It was time for her to depart.

"I need my things first," Her features stoned, not allowing Jussac ordering her around.

His smirk threw her off. "Afraid you can't do that. Some of the guards will send forward your belongings,"

A step forward and a hand on the horse's muzzle sent shivers down Aramis' neck. An angry Antoinette held nothing but defeat on his part. "This is unacceptable. I refuse to allow _your_ guards pack _my_ luggage," she gestured between Jussac and herself.

"You have no option," he finished with finality.

"I'll sort through your things for you," her lover called besides her.

Her gaze up towards him held nothing but appreciation. Appreciation she held to the highest ranks. If it weren't for him, five years ago would have ended quite differently.

"Thank you," She kissed him longingly. He peppered around her mouth with dove kisses as she hugged him. She wiped around her eyes. "Am I going to get on my horse by myself?" she asked.

"No, that would be my job," He gladly let a foot slip into the handle and hoisted her back upon Rosemary. The red bridle rested against her wrists as Aramis enclosed his hand around hers.

"Hurry up!" roared the impatient guardsman.

Rolling her eyes at him, she smiled down. "I'll write,"

He kissed the inside of her wrist where a single pulse let out. "I'll respond," he promised.

French taste not only served itself in wine but as well in drapery and double doors. The Parisian palace oped a golden heaven with heavy creme swirls designed in the walls. The left wing was housed as the Queen's chambers, a whole floor dedicated. Golden archways circled around the paintings and mahogany furnishing breathed intricate patterns right until they reached the spacious windows pouring in sunlight.

Antoinette's skirts floated amongst the polished, marbled floors with a young girl a few years younger than she. her long blonde hair did not wash out her porcelain skin. Her blue dress with a pink corset background let the lights dance about her. Antoinette's simple yellow peasant gown was nothing compared to the lavish expenses the court dresses out.

Constatine's young spirit reminded her of a younger Antoinette. "And here is the Queen's wing as well as her lady-in-waitings' rooms. Yours is at the end of the hall," The end of hallway happened to be what seemed like a kilometer away.

"Right," she said unsure. She turned towards Constatine, looking for a conversation piece seeing as her room was such a distance. "Thank you so much Constatine for your kindness. It's been a rough transition from Paris to Venice and back,"

Constatine smiled. "At least you could travel the world. It's always been a dream of mine. Adventure, action, the thrill and excitement," The familiar glow of a young girl dreaming of places and people so foreign that it would be exotic.

"You forgot romance," she stage whispered.

She laughed, blushing a shade of rose red. "I honestly don't seem myself with someone. All the boys try to act like men, and all the men act like boys," she concluded to perfection.

"Not all of them," she admitted. "You've just got to choose the one who stand above the rest. That doesn't always mean the cockiest or richest in most times,"

Constatine slowed her steps. "You speak truthfully?"

"And from experience," She restarted Constatine's steps.

"You are in love?" she guessed.

Antoinette thought of her love for Aramis. Constatine's young curiosity and her innocence should be preserved. "Very much. Been together for half a decade,"

"Does it hurt?" she asked curiously. Antoinette's eyes widened at what she was insinuating. Her mouth gaped. "Being away from him after five years?" she finished. A short breath of relief eased her.

She explained, "After a while, you fall into routine. He goes off to work, she cooks and cleans the home. We work differently; add the adventure in our lives. Some days both are nigh inseparable; others can't stand one another. You take it day by day," She reminisced for a minute before she realized her predicament.

"But yes, I do miss him. This will be the first time in a long while I know not how long I will be away from him,"

Constatine's face sympathized. "If it's any consulation, lady-in-waitings receive time off once every week as a merit. Unfortunately the Cardinal must sign permission to leave the palace," she said meekly.

Antoinette, taken back, showed little fear. "Not even the Queen has clearance?"

"In these regions, Cardinal rules,"

Didn't she know that already. If Antoinette was going to be pushed around by the Cardinal, it would be on her own terms. Her father might have separated her from her escapades with the Musketeers but it won't interfere with her life or decisions. As she continued walking, she counted thirty seven ways to torture the Cardinal without the use of knives or gun powder. She shortened her list noticing it would be impossible to haul a catapult inside on her own.

"Then he will be half of my problems," She remained calm and with edge tucked beneath. Her hands curcled into manicured talon shaped fists behind her back.

Her problems would just about to begin when a guard escorted her down to Cardinal Richelieu's working office. She had the fortunate time to change into a purple taffeta chiffon with a slick lace train enveloping a pace behind her. Her messy hair was curled back to it's original shape, eyelashes thickened, and charm bracelets clipped round her wrists.

"Her Ladyship, Comtesse de Chevreuse," a page announced when the doors opened.

The Cardinal, so innocent and pure, decorated the room wholesome white with lingering black. The usual checkboard floor was made to scale of the continent of Europe, with replicas of armies and ships playing on all borders of starred France. She stood at the center of the outlined Paris as she gazed upon a smiling Cardinal. His red robes and cap draped around him, obscuring his figure. His fading beard and moustache twitched at my prensence.

He came forward with a train of red robe. "My lady. I persume your quarters are to your liking?" He held out his rings on his stout fingers. It was customary for the people to kiss the rings as a sign of respect. Antoinette stiffened her nose before quickly brushing her lips over the Cardinal's ring.

"Yes, Your Eminence. However it would have been more proper to pack my own belongings," she curtsied.

His eyebrow lifted. "Are your things delivered?"

Taken back, she replied, "Yes,"

"Then I don't see the problem. Whether by whose hand, your belongings managed to make it one piece, are they not?" He waved a hand for a page to bring him a cheese platter. He dipped a finger on the tray before shoveling it in his mouth.

"That is besides the point," he started as Antoinette watched as he sat back at his desk with forlong authority. "Your attendance here is upon request by your father the Duc de Chevreuse. You are to wait on the Queen until further notice. Palace rules will be conducted in the strictest of manners and permission to leave the grounds are the be authenticated by me. Understood?" he ordered.

Antoinette's toes curled underneath her skirts. Somehow she could not find the heart or brains to imagine how the Pope hand chosen him. His eyes watched over her figure. She moved her train over to the side as she walked across the map and moving away from its obstacles over to his desk.

With single mind at hand she curtsied shortly never taking her eyes off the hunched over holy man.

"Yes, Your Eminence. Will that be all?" she drawled in her Lorraine sea born accent.

Richelieu laughed patiently watching her slowly retreating figure to the map. He snapped his fingers for some more cheese.

"Not quite. Guards, bring them in," he ordered as the cheese platter was set aside. Antoinette glanced behind her at the horror. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis- all changed and suited as Musketeers approached the Cardinal with dignity and honor. To her left, reaching for her hand was Aramis. The twinkle in her eye did not go unseen by the Cardinal.

Athos began to bow. "Your Eminence-"

"Silence," he commanded. In a single file line he walked down each of the four, examining them like vermin. "Athos. Porthos. Aramis. Lady Antoinette. I have summoned the four of you to review your plans conceived in Venice. Do you or do you not have the Da Vinci war machine plans?" his voice broke like icicles in mid December.

"Complications arose, Your Eminence," Athos broke even.

The Cardinal, becoming more bird-like rather than holy, marched with hidden anger and fake disappointment. "Oh dear. There are no complications, only mistakes. Where are the plans?"

"We imagine halfway to London by now," Porthos said darkly.

The Cardinal's eyes widened like a snake's retreating slither. "What? Explain yourselves Athos!" he shouted an octave higher.

Athos, being Athos, took the balme instead of equal corporal punishment. He was the expected leader and believed even if one was for all, their failure was his failure. However turning in Milady would have made punishment easier, there was nothing to do with a mastermind ex-criminal on the arm with the most powerful man in England second to the King.

"Buckingham and... Lord Buckingham sought after the plans after a successful extraction. Took us by surprise and fled before we stood a chance."

Richelieu called forth Rochefort. Dangerous as his one good eye, he was the deadliest swordsman in all of Europe. An ex-military war hero and prestige marksman, he took great pleasure in stirring the pot with the rugged Musketeers- a team which he was not _privileged_ to abide.

"Well then. Rochefort, this is unacceptable. A failed mission by the best Musketeers in France. What say you?" asked Richelieu.

"Death by penalty," Antoinette clutched to Aramis hand for life. One askewed mission did not merit a lifetime sentence. After all their hard work, it was not by their laws to see fit an unfit punishment.

"Your Eminence, I hardly think that constitutes a cruel and unusal punishment," The Comtesse spoke hard on truth. Aramis' hand struggled to not yank her hand, a signal to stop her from receiving on the spot death.

"Silence you ungrateful wench!" he thundered. He turned to the lot. "You have disgraced this great nation of France and furthermore drove our enemies to snatch the plans leading us to your Judgement Day!"

Athos intervened, "I speak for my team and take full responsibility to the damages inflicted,"

"There are no damages yet, only full-fledged war on all sides! This incompetence-" Richelieu's power strike was stopped in maddening seconds when the announcement of the King was made. All in the room bowed or curtsied deeply. The Musketeers inwardly sighed for a presence to ratify the Cardinal's unjust behaviors.

The young King, a man of great descent and lean figure, stormed with his entourage of servants surrounding his person. His flowing red hair reached his shoulders, which were ripped at the seams. Perhaps another outburst to his dislike of the fabric or texture.

"Richelieu! Just the man I was looking for," He waved his hand for the entourage to stop. The Cardinal replaced his sneer with a happy, unwanted face as his King approached him.

"Your Highness, what do I grant your presence for?" he gnashed.

"I need a new wardrobe assistant. The last one had the nerve to suggest white and black for the court colors. How ghastly!" he squealed at the disarray of fallen pieces of cloth at the ends. The Musketeers looked questionly at one another in hopes their last chance for life would not be spoken from the mouth of a child.

"Oh, were you in the middle of something?"

Richelieu laughed quietly to himself. "Just issuing your Musketeers their rightful punishment for failing to follow orders," He narrowed his eyes at the group.

King Louis XIII puffed out his meager chest. His chin lifted too high. "I am the King and I will see such actions. Go along, tell me what you have done. Speak!"

Athos looked towards Aramis and Antoinette. Aramis cleared his throat and didn't dare raise his tone above normal speaking level.

"Your Majesty, the plans from the vault in Venice were intercepted by Lord Buckingham,"

The King scoffed childishly. "Buckingham? Oh, great. Not only is he fashion forward but now his military might have the advantage! Can't someone do something right around here?" He stomped his feet down impetuously.

Antoinette, hoping her feminine voice would calm the King, spoke. "Pardon my outspoken tongue, Your Majesty, but some of the blame should be placed on the traitor who turned the plans over,"

It may have not been up to her, but Milady's treachery should not be left unseen. Sneaking away with the plans and Buckingham may have been a betrayal on her part, but to disgrace the Musketeers in front of the King's country? Certainetly not.

Interested, the King questioned, "Traitor? Who is it, Richelieu?"

"I have no idea, Your Majesty. Full investigations will be followed up within the coming weeks," He half-promised.

"Make it within the week. Gah, I do hate Buckingham with his leadership qualities and ability to turn a few heads on his trendy styles," he whined.

Richelieu stood forward to the Musketeers. "Your Majesty? The punishments? Might I recommend the gallows?"

A distracted King was brought out of his mind and back to his supposed duties. "What? Oh yes, yes. Right."

"You three Musketeers are discharged from service and reduced salary for not giving the Cardinal what he wanted. Ummm, what about her?" He pointed to the Comtesse. Richelieu snaked a smirk across the way.

"Her father arranged plans to serve the Queen,"

The King blinked rapidly not comprehending well. "Don't see how that's a punishment but I dub you lady-in-waiting, Comtesse de Chevreuse. Now, if that's all I'm needed for I would like someone to draw a list of wardrobe coordinators!"

With a flourish and a few clumsy steps away, the King was out of sight and the hopes of the quartet. Aramis clung to Antoinette's hand as she felt her chest about to heave frustrations.

"Right on it, Your Majesty," he sneered. "Guards, escort these... men out of the palace. Dishonorable men have no place on national grounds," casting away his eyes from the men and woman.

Aramis turned to embrace Antoinette for a moment but was interferred by the clang of guards with their weapons. Antoinette, frozen from her fate, let go of their conjoined hands as she was pushed forward with a javelin axe to separate.

"Antoinette,"

"Aramis," They whispered as the two tore apart their eyes away from one another. Antoinette's dry sobs were met with a single shed tear on her march to her room. The guards left her halfway in the hallway to her own crumbling figure. She would let the tears fall but only for the last time. She would remain strong for herself.

For tomorrow would mark the first day as a lady-in-waiting, and the first of many days to always remember no matter the amount of generousity, the cruelness that was bestowed by the Cardinal.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: A Thousand Moments

**So apparently plan did not work as I thought it would be. I apologize for that but! Good news is I have all dialogue done for upcoming chapters so it'll be easier to write rather than waste tme coming up with a good pace of words and plot. Reviews would be nice with some contructive criticism to see what I can approve upon. **

**Just a little heads up about this chapter: Nothing that totally goes with the story. This is just filling information about Antoinette's past and the first time she met Aramis :) exciting.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Three Musketeers.**

The palace gardens elongated along the sides and back ends of the buildings. They were rare treasures one could only find on a pilgrimage to the blue garden of Eden. Magnificent blooms of stylized lilies had become a popular identification amongst open spaces in between homes in Paris and across the nation of France. The lily specialized in its hybrid variations of colors and sharp pigments ranging from a fair maiden's blush pink to the outragerous stimpulation of orange.

Chopped bushes are kept at clean cut and regularly trimmed whenever the Queen outs of the the palace. Designated compressed gravel walkways added a whimsical wonderland effect when browsing through the spring rosemary bushes and daffodils that tickle occupant's feet.

The many cousins of gerberas were one of the few flowering plants that are always near the Queen. The long lasting flower out of it's soil hold the scent and color as if it were freshly bloomed. In between each row of carefully bred gerbera were the newly acquired fleur-de-lis created a sparkling rainbow from their wild colors that stood out from the proud overbearing longetivity of the gerberas. King Louis XII, the current King's father, adopted the ancient Greeks' tricks to fertilize the flowers differently then natural soil.

It's aroma impacted the whole centre of the garden: a wide arched room with tall circular pillars and demi-shaped dome. It housed a rounded table for the Queen and her ladies as well as a storage of mini chairs, books, sewing utensils, and a small sized bakery for afternoon meals. Inside were four footmen, standing at the four corners donned in the new color orange after the orange lilacs next to the King's balcony.

Queen Anne sat timidly at the table, fanning herself from a nasty heat wave drawing in from the south. Her petite frame overlooked the determined Antoinette, patiently awaiting an invitation for conversation. Her long curls were pulled back into a bun and her hands fidgeted at her sides from the new dress restrictions of a whale bone corset.

Though the Queen knew her suspicions, Antoinette did not feel comfortable in her own skin. Her body ached for more sleep as she woke up three hours earlier than her routine to assist the Queen's schedule. Her hair lacked it's usual shiny character pulled back from her face. She felt exposed and judgement at every corner of Richelieu's halls and in front of most of the gossipy ladies.

Her tea placement of French vanilla laced tea steamed off the cup with a spoon and napkin besides it. She carefully lifted the boiling tea and straightened her posture before nearly chocking down the scathing tea for stallment.

The aching pain in her throat dulled the pain in her heart but sharpened her wits when the Queen moved her fan away from her hiding face.

"I do hope you are comfortable here. Palace life can take quite some time to adjust," she said friendly. Her fan folded back to it's singular shape.

"Yes, my Queen," Her voice strengthened. "Paris is a most wonderous place to live. Of course, I am sure Austrian lands are equally as beautiful," She let go of the cup to dab her napkin on her burning mouth. The cool fabric did nothing but egg on the pain. With nothing else to drink, she bit down her tongue.

"Quite. It can be hard some time. I often think of my homeland but..." she paused. A sudden drift in the wind called from the west to east, tangling in between some of her looser curls. The smile returned as the wind died down and a new air current erupted elsewhere. "Paris is my home, France is my land. And the people are admirable,"

"Oh, yes,"

The Queen's eyes shamed down. A queen must never let her chin dip down. Mostly to prevent a double chin or the falling of wrinkles. However Antoinette noted her youthful face was not concerned about her vanity as she was preoccupied with a silver crystal bracelet wrapped around her wrist, an Austrian charm. Her eyes dreamt of the glossy silver dripping into her hands and escape through the seams of her hand; slipping away forever on French soil.

She reminisced, "When I first settled down in Paris, I felt tension as well. The Cardinal had arranged the marriage between the King and I for political alliance. I only met the King twice before meeting him a third time at the altar," Her one hand gripped the charm next to the silver, a gold crown embellished with two tiny diamonds. No doubt a wedding gift from the Cardinal- a bondage chain.

Feeling empathy roll down her neck, she replied, "It must be... strange to marry someone you hardly know?"

The Queen's head lifted suddenly as if startled by the very idea. Then her doe eyes sized down as she returned to a proper posture, aligning her shoulders against the brunt of the headboard.

"Indeed," she said regally. "I had hoped we would grow to love each other as time went on. He can hardly stand to be around me for more than a few minutes," Not a taste of bitterness flipped over her tongue. Just a hair of Austrian slipped through the crevices, enveloping the word 'love'.

There were two times in her life she had ever felt doubt. Once was when she was three and again when her mother passed away. As foolish the King appeared to be, somehow Antoinette could not imagine a child of a King be so impetulent against his bride queen. Politics or not, a King should not shy away from the Queen unless he felt the anxiety and nervous conflictions the Queen doubted too.

Antoinette boldly let her shoulders slouch. For a moment, any outsider would be astonished by her cozy position to unwind in front of royalty. She let an elbow rest on the rest before angling her body towards the Queen.

"I do not know so much about the King in his personal affairs, but I would think the King is nervous and doesn't know how to make his Queen happy," she opened up. "Do you spend time with each other?"

The Queen, appalled at her frank nature, stared at her only a minute- scrunitinizing whether she would be friend or foe. She let her kindred spirit answer for her. "Yes, only when the time permits. So busy running the country with the Cardinal,"

Somehow the Cardinal would have been mentioned. Perhaps Richelieu divided the strong alliance in case of backdooring or word of his traitorous behaviors in the past.

"Do not fret Your Majesty," Antoinette leaned in, eyes lowering from the eavesdropping footmen. "I have a feeling you and your King will be together in the way you imagine it to be,"

She nodded appreciatively for her attentiveness. "Thank you Antoinette. I find your confidence radiant. Is there someone in your life?" She asked.

Too quickly, she let the blow deepen further. "Yes, but I'm afraid we have been separated,"

Driven with curiosity but with respect for her privacy, she replied her sympathy. "Oh... I am sorry,"

"No need. I have faith one day we will be together again. Just like you,"

The moment passed when Antoinette reached back again for the cup, fully enjoying the warmth spreading down to her toes. Her back eased back into the chair in a more comfortable lining. The Queen's fan wavered from her hand back to the table, debating if the heat was worth it. She decided against it, taking in another sip of a fresh cup of tea.

"I see both of us as equals," she composed. A cup to her lips separated her words. "As ladies in _waiting_. If ever you should need anything please come to me. Perhaps that one day you dream of could come nearer,"

Her gift of equality and approached understanding startled the Comtesse. To give up her noble stature as a beloved French and Austrian icon in her eyes unsettled her. Noble peerage was standardized with dictation and rules and land adjoined. For Antoinette to have similiar grounding as a powerful woman in France benefited her stay for once. Perhaps the world can be small, but friendship can be dug through from anywhere.

"I am speechless with your gracious gift," Her words finally summoned.

She had smiled graciously in a manner Antoinette found charming. "And I am grateful for your companionship and counsel. He must be a special man for you to have bravely give up your freedom to serve in the court,"

She disgressed. "I'm not giving up anything. Only reserving,"

Queen Anne set her cup down and reached for Antoinette's hand, bracelet clinking. The firm grip was not struggling, but in family gesutre.

"Spoken like a strong Austrian woman,"

Chimes emitted from Antoinette covering her laugh pitifully. "I beg to differ. I speak like a Lorraine lady," she responded coolly.

_The House of Rohan had many successors and proud children honored with merits. But none stood brighter or more beautiful than Marie de Rohan. Strong and priviliged, her titles and nobility far outlasted those of her first husband, Charles d'Albert, Duc of Luynes and old confidant to the King's father when he was alive. Though her marriage lengthened a year after giving birth to Louis Charles d'Albert de Luynes, the Duchessina became too intrigued with the politics in court, creating scandals left and right and sometimes watching the issues unfold._

_As her husband was the the Supreme Commander of the French military, he couldn't have a wife emerged in radical thinking of politics and invoking power to women. The marriage terminated after her husband died in combata year afterward. Her conspiracies in court from the old queen and the current Cardinal spun round the people in France revolting to the comings and goings of Marie until finally settleddown with Claude de Lorraine._

_Her appalling nature to tease gossip into conviction led her strong head to take confidence and find adventure out of the ordinary whether it be a maid's one night with a married Comte or the latest thrill of Spanish battlements and warrens. During her second marriage, Claude restricted her to his estate in Lorraine with the only heir she had produced, a tiny girl named Antoinette or Netta as she was affectionately named._

_The relationships of Claude and Marie were not the same star-crossed lovers she had hoped to be. His other side turned darker with the ridicule and lack of respect other noblemen gave him. His wife's indiscretions of gossip and boldness led his heart to shrivel out any love he had felt for the woman._

_In truth, he had first blamed it for her inability to give him a son he so desired instead of the unwanted girl he felt for her._

_"You produced one other bastard to him yet you cannot do the same for me?" his abrasive side creeped out. Little Antoinette, sitting on her bed waiting to be tucked in, crooked her head in curiosity at the alarming voices. Her hands patted at her sides as she tried to listen to her mama and papa._

_"What would you have me do, Claude?" a desperate feminine voice rang out with pleads shrouding behind plastered walls. "The doctor has said I am well beyond my years to hold another child. Maybe it's not my fault, but yours!" The growing crescendo of the voice startled the young girl of 8. Her lip trembled when her several knocks hit the floor, vibrating violently._

_"You're right! It was my mistake before God to marry a divored salope!" he cursed with cruel blackguard._

_Not of furniture or crashes of bottles broke contact. The flimsy hand of Marie de Rohan-Lorraine punched against the scruffy side of the man she used to know. "Cheap putain d'homme! How dare you stain the House of Rohan with such disgrace? You have us living like old maids!" she accused in her notable French voice._

_Antoinette's intent of listening brought tears she did not want to shed. She had heard her parents talk of many things: wars, courts, seasons, love, and the most common of their talks- disputes._

_"Only you would know because you sleep like one. I should throw the vermin out of this household, starting with your whorish ways, woman!"_

_She bit her lip as she clutched the covers against her chest as her mother's painful cries echoed the estate. Heart wrenching tears sounded off as the man stomped about profusedly._

_" You would throw away all we had because your child is not the right sex? How dare you insult my daughter!" Her yell reattached the second blanket to Antoinette._

_"She's mine as well!"_

_"No! You gave up your fatherhood five years ago when you pushed her down the stairs! Meurtrier!"_

_The faint chill spilled down her spine as the young girl remembered her fall. Not a trip or a slip of the ankle. A full-fledged force pushing her down because of her logn hair and feminine facial curves. Antoinette's silent sobs racked inside her chest, not wanting an outer turmoil break through her walls._

_"Fine!" thundered her papa. "Sleep with the pigs, they are as boisterous as your fat lip!"_

_Another round of yelling and the match quieted. The girl's tears were sniffled as the room became haunting. Over and over her mind replaced the deafening silence with the earth shattering disturbances looking for something to end this nightmare._

_The crack of a door creaked, startling a scream. The poor girl's wet face met the eyes of her bruised mother. Her rounded face was adorned with fresh purple bruises and puffy red eyes. A limp gave way her scars healing from tonight's round._

_"Mama? I cannot sleep," she cried._

_The broken woman sobbed all over again, hugging her child tightly in her arms. Everyone had disheartned her. Not even her son came to recognize his mother in years. She had made a fool of herself to the public for being bold, and did not want a similiar fate rest on her daughter. She wiped the tears gently, rubbing her silk strands._

_"Mon ange. Would you like me to sing you a lullaby?"_

_Her tired and aching head trembled as her mother folded the covers correctly from her distress. Her smooth voice voweled over syallables young girls had yet to roll off. The words, simple yet alluring, told a story of a milk maid in pursuit by a love stricken prince and her challenges to becoming a Queen. An old tale turned song by her mother._

_"All better, lovely?"_

_Antoinette cutely yawned as her petite voice tiredly responded, "Oh yes, mama,"_

_The lull and hum of her mother's voice echoed into her daughter's subconscious until her dreams retold the story again in beautiful song and lyric._

And still to that day, whenever trouble gave way, Antoinette hummed the old tune beneath her breath as a constant reminder of her mother's bravery that lived through her to the day she died.

_The cold feeling of death hung on the lit candles, steaming towards the high rising ceiling. Blush red and sorrow blue painted glass stodd out brightly against the sun from the rafters point of view. A percipice from above the sermon held an arched balcony with a stony door shaped behind it. Two sheets of white draped over an oak table with ornate golden crosses._

_In front stood the bowed priest in his red robe blessing the pages of an old, frail Latin bible. Half mumbling, and half gurgling, the blotched man moved his hands in synchronized movements to represent the Holy Father, Son, and Spirit with each reprise._

_The low hum of organ and pipe sifted through the musty air, lingering in heavy masks of pain and grief. Priests lighting the candles in various positions murmured old hymns of Latin. Music and lyrics meant nothing in respects of those departed. Empty decorative tombs laid waste in the back next to carved stone look alikes of saints and would-be representations of Mary and baby Jesus. Music never lifted the edged curves of a smile up. Lyrics never pierced the stony souls of their eyes._

_Then why should music or it's companion drift into the ears of Antoinette? No difference of tune would release the home-spun cocoon she enveloped her emotions. She believed there was a time and place to display emotions- in private, not for a stage of audience members that only pretended to know her mother otherwise._

_As she sat in the front row of the pews listening to the monotone drawls of Father Bernard, her fingers clenched tightly together like an inpenetrable fortress. Her chin dipped down but her eyes averted to her right where her father dapped away sweat-not tears- from his face._

_The dainty handkerchief had in fact not been soiled with salty stains but from putrid odor at the long sermon and remembrance of his dead wife. Six feet and under he could not even summon a fake tear for the woman who put up with him._

_Nearly twenty and already rebelling from her father's demands, Antoinette desperately wished to have a glass of champagne, a book from her mother's library, and cozy up with the hand-knitted blanket she gave to her on her sixth birthday. That was a way to respect her mother. Not to extravagate her mother's death in Notre Dame with hundreds of unknown nobles._

_Another half hour ticked by the drooping of waxy candles gliding down the forked bannisters. Antoinette, dressed in casual black gown, greeted the many visitors in the front. Ostentatious black and white dresses and pompous trousers were made to out-do one another. Antoinette silently at a woman with a goose feather hat with the bill lodged above her foreheard._

_Besides her and playing his part to the nines, caught his rowdy child amusing herself. Not wanting this child ending up like his wife (rest in peace), he tucked her elbow in._

_"Pay your respects, Antoinette," he hissed under his breath. "These people fathomed long travels to wish us well," he said with a forced smile on his face as another lowly baron and his new mistress trailed up to shake his hand._

_Her face ever resilient, defied him. "The dead don't require pity,"_

_Catching the glare from some nobles, he moved his child away from the oncoming visitors. "Hush child!" His hands on her shoulders as if in a fatherly embrace. He turned in remorse for showcase to the priest. He clapped his hands together._

_"Father Bernard, a beautiful ceremony for my beautiful departed wife,"_

_The catatonic priest nodded, moving the flap under his chin with it. "She is looking down from God's Kingdom to gaze upon the beauty and well loved members of friends and family today. A mother's care and a wife's love will always be cherished in God's earthly domain," His eyes shone to the rafters as if she were glancing down from the doored balcony._

_Claude de Lorraine sighed to sharing his 'sympathy'. "Thank you for your kind words. Antoinette,"_

_Antoinette still glanced at the balcony the old man gestured to. A shimmering light coming off of the dozen candles underneath and the sunlight pouring in from one of the clear panels created a ghost-like effect._

_Her head snapped out of it's trance when her father clasped her hand rather constrictingly. The Father Bernard left to attend to his other priests in low whispers. Claude violently turned his head, sharpening his gaze._

_"Where is your head today?" he emitted a growl._

_She unhanded herself from him. Her pearly teeth showed as she clenched, "At the pit of your fury,"_

_Upon instinct, his hand raised above, hovering by her cheek. Onlookers studied his appearance. Feeling more heat, he pretended to pat her cheek affectionately before pulling her into a hug._

_Into her ear, with frightening closure he added, "Insolent child, go and when I next see you, you had better be crying tears of remorse or I will force my backhand to release them," He let go suddenly to receive more forgiving guests with a servant or two following in his wake._

_"Anything to get away from the chill besides me," she said to herself._

_Everyone huddled in groups, most discussing today's politics instead of confessing stories of their connections to the deceased Duchessina. Feeling alone and unwanted, she disappeared to the corners. But even there were people- or rather nobles seeking off to sneak a kiss or two with their chosen lovers. The urge to gurgitate hastened her pace to the nearest room or alcove she could find vacant._

_To the left hallway and down the corridor was a boxed off confession box most likely unused for today there was no Mass._

_Her fingers trembled on the handle before purging herself into the hollowed wooden bench with criss-crossed bearings of cherry blossom tree intersecting perpendicularally. She let her head hit the back of the closed door. She deeply sighed for once, breathing in fresh air despite it's claustrophobic atmosphere._

_"The Holy Father blesses you for annoiting your sins to repent in confession," A hidden voice cleared._

_"Ah!" she yelped as her head leaned forward and then hit back on the door, hard. She rubbed the sore as she inspected the other side of the crosses. A man with hands in prayer beads and dressed as a young priest sat opposite her._

_His meditation spell broke off as his piercing dark eyes captivated her soul. Her mesmerised state wore off as her back hunched back in panic. "Oh so sorry, did not mean to intrude," A hand rose to her face in sheer embarassment. Well, it was certainetly better than a romping couple half naked. Even the face of this man was more appeasing than any noble caught up in a corner._

_"It is a confession box, child," his deep voice rang through her ears. Antoinette's eyes glared at the priest in the box haphazardly._

_"Ugh, why does everyone consider me a child?" she groaned folding her hands in her lap. Her posture straightened. "I am proudly twenty without a boring man only my father would approve of," Her spirit resonating just like her mother._

_A shuffle of the man's rosary beads and the cross around his neck were the only definite sounds from him until he cleared his voice again._

_"Perhaps your father does not wish for you to grow up, leave the nest, and live the way God attends to,"_

_She couldn't put a finger on how his voice did not match any of the others. Deep and profound, yet not drawling or unattractive. Her mind flittered to her unruly father and his misbehaviors that were deemed hellish tenfold. The past years were wearing on her mother's health. He wore her out until she dropped ungraciously as a dead mule._

_"No, that's the thing," She laughed to herself in pity. "Father cannot wait 'till the day I am married and shipped away to play nursemaid and cook for 'husband dearest'. So degrading," Her disgust extended past just his judgement. It was his disregard to human sympathy that ate away her guts._

_The stranger stared at her conspiciously. Never in her life was she under anyone's scrutiny. It was a refreshing change of pace for Antoinette's feelings taking into account rather than judging. For that reason, she became ultimately intrigued with this unusual priest._

_" ... I can sense a lot of anger on your part. Is something else holding you back?"_

_An understatement which kept Antoinette laughing herself silly. ?"Anger is not the half of it sometimes. My mother was a Rohan," She waited impatiently for the recognition turn to fear and then to steelness. But he didn't. He motioned with his eyes to continue on._

_"Her father and their forefathers were soldiers and brave men off to fight battles and win country. Mother was born in an era women wouldn't dare learn tactics and skill. This is the 17th century and I want to defend myself. But whenever the opportunity arises, father intervenes," she said half-heartedly._

_His head leant forward dipping into the wood crosses. "What made you decide to pursue a dangerous course?"_

_"Break from the whole routine: mature, wed, have babies, tend to every single thing the man desires until the day I die. Is it so bad to be someone I am not suppose to be?" she desired from the depths of her dreams._

_A life without rule. A simplicity without the straining conflictions. A dream with as much obstacles as possible. In other words, heaven._

_The priest smoothed back a hand through his hair. He knew the woman was unnerving yet agile in word play. Confessions did not require this much conversation. They would talk, he would listen and occasionally give feedback with passages of sermon. Or at least that was what the protocal dictated. It seemed so foreign to have casuality in a sacred place that he felt the roof would cave in from disobeidence._

_"God has written our path from the moment we first draw breath. It is not unnatural to stray from the path. Abraham's sons did it, so did Moses," He drew breath._

_She pointed out, "Yes, but those are men. It was acceptable for them to rebel. Never the women,"_

_He struggled to not raise annoyance as if to pound the very idea of abnormality into her head. "If you were to break out of the norm of society, what would the repercussions be? Strain? Exhaustion? Death by gallows? Every day brings new challenges to the plate, however yours would be piled over. Being a man of God taught that there were many kinds of personalities in people. With men there are the brawny, the scrawny and the exceedingly rich. As well the peasants, the nobles, the landowners, the artisans, the musicians, etc. With women there were only three categories: rich, poor, or whores._

_Rarely did he encounter one of the last._

_What surpassed his knowledge was the identification of the young lady of twenty in black church clothes with a certain sparkle in her eyes of her dreams that were too distant in the fantasy of the world._

_The woman in question, spoke him out of his transverse riddles. "You speak as if know it. Why?"_

_He ended curtly, "This is your confession, not mine,"_

_She dipped her elbows on the little platform rest. Her eyes stared straight through him for a better excuse. "It's only fair. I've told my life story. What's yours?" she concocted with a hint of a smirk around her dimples._

_"This wouldn't be appropriate," he said. "The life of a man of God is constantly on pilgrimage for sacrifice and purity. Our hardships are morals," He explained as if from a master to a student. The only difference is this student was willing to learn._

_She raised a finger drawing miscellaneous shapes around the edges of the platform. "Yes but morals are to be taught and learned from. Aren't men of God teaching the Word of the Holy Spirit?" Her eyelashes thickened under her hooded eyes._

_A brief moment of silence overcame the priest. Never in his twenty two years as someone thought to ever ask his concerns. He was suppose to be without troubles, o doubts. Yet she could see clearly past the facade that was underneath the cross and robes he donned. "I see your point. You would make an excellent politician or frazzled nun,"_

_Her chimed laughter tilted his head back, surprised at her sudden relaxed composure. A smile rose from the corner that only the devil would shy away from._

_"I tend to stay away from white skirts, draws in the suitors," she joshed._

_He fumbled with his hands. Smoothing out the curves in his worn hands from lighting the torches and brushing past the dusty tomes. His fingers twitched over to the cross, sighing heavily. His shoulders sagged in comfort._

_"My father was a soldier as well but died on battlefield. My mother, a Jesuit and extreme pacifist left him before his last tour to the Spanish Main, believeing God's work was not meant in harsh violence._

_" From there forth I was lectured and raised on holy principles, to use my mind as a shield rather than a sword. As a boy turning to manhood, fights were teasingly common. But because of my upbringing and mother's wishes to become apart of the Church one day, I let their sticks and stones break my bones for words would never hurt a training man of God. Years later my work from the local church and abbey paid off and promoted me to Notre Dame, a fine institution. Peace, quiet, and alone time with God," he finished, growing smaller and smaller to his present._

_Antoinette shook her head. This man wasn't thrilled with the life he led. His tongue dulled speaking of church work and only churned at the mention of fights and battlefields. This priest did not long for God, but for the thrill of the chase to God._

_"But don't you find there's more to life than the purpose of God at a workbench?" she asked curiously deciphering the man she grown to accustom to in the short time they talked. "The texts will always be the same in languages too well known. A life as exciting as becoming skilled in the arts or swordsmanship is wild and unknown," Her voice gradually raising in excitement._

_She diluted the emotion as the man's eyes widened._

_"Yes, but it is not practical. A man of the cloth must abide time deciphering the Holy Spirit." he said like clockwork. Holy man this, Word that. Antoinette could not pick up a better vibe from the man than detachment and hesitation._

_She clasped the platform on edge. "Being a man of the cloth, and a man of God aren't always the same thing, you know. When Moses rose against Egypt, he led a rebellion of people. They fight for what they believed in: the Promise Land. Are you fighting for what you believe, in God and essence, behind scroll and paper?" she asked him with dead seriousness._

_His face deadpanned. His mouth ajar and a hand no longer residing on the cross he so fondly clenched during their heart to heart. Antoinette pulled her skirts and left the confession box without another word, fearing she had upset him beyond repair. Her rash mouth once again astonished another person and she couldn't muzzle it. A slight disappointment aroused in her mind as she regained entrance back to reality._

_There was still a funeral, with a procession of people stalking about the memoirs left in her memorial. She was in Notre Dame, the famed cathedral, in the square of Paris; in the most miserable country without reformation. And noted, she was alone._

_Or at least she thought she was until the quiet patter of running footsteps flew about behind her._

_"Wait!" The attractive voice broke through. His cross was besides his pocket and his smoothed back hair was slightly astray in his flurry of motion. The robes were buff and unflattering on any physique._

_"I-..." He paused as he remembered the hush sound of whispers and humming priests roaming around. He beckoned her forward to a tucked away alcove. The damp texture of stone moistened the air but did not thicken from their breaths._

_His hands shook from revelation. A hand flew to his forehead in gasps. "What you said, was corruptive to the soul and twisting the fabrication of the Bible," he started viciously throwing the words out without a softened blow. Her eyes rimmed with water just as he sighed. This time his head hit the stone walls._

_"Yet... there's a part of my soul that yearns to know of your knowledge God has given you about outspoken behavior,"_

_In disbelief, she creased the corners of her eyes to flood the tears back. Antoinett sniffled quietly. "Sorry, workshop closed a week ago," she said trying to play her emotions as allergies. Her fingers trailed over to her tear ducts instinctively to remove any motivation to cry from the sudden shift in tone and behavior._

_"Please!" he begged as his arms trapped hers to his. "Your words inspired a new transaction between the worship between man and God," His voice quieted as he studied her face in new tranformation. Just as if she had changed on the spot like a butterfly._

_"Oh do tell me," she mumbled._

_He puffed out not knowing what to say. It started with a simple confession of pity and then led to their realization of something other than the lives they were meant to live for- through someone else. "Well... I-I. The old testaments told stories of transition to the beginning and the middle of creation. It spoke of challenges worth beyond measurable talent of men and women. Perhaps instead of following in the words of holy men to find the path of God, one must lead in the right direction,"_

_"And you believe that is through me?" Her eyes averted sharply._

_He shrugged his shoulders. "In essence I suppose it could. Nevertheless, my old passion to give not take or fight not follow has left me emerged enlightened," he said vicariously._

_She asked, "You, a man of cloth, be a fighter? Men were fighters, but not holy men with a different mission._

_"Like you said," he began gesturing to the robes and cross, "A man of cloth is running behind the past digging into secrets. A man of God finds truth through progress- moving forward," He pointed to the paintings of glass depicting scenes of failure and triumph. Moments of sorrow and then elation._

_"Antoinette!" The solace erupted when the bulk voice shouted. The depths of the floor trembled in her wake when her father stood, in total dominance with his serfs, for his child to run to his side for forgiveness. Instead he was met with only cruel black eyes that did not belong in a holy place. For a pace he stepped a foot backwards until his arrogance pushed it forward._

_Antoinette envisioned the earth to swallow him to the fiery pits of hell. The dream eluded as she remembered her place. Her face softened. "Well, as delighted as your arrival to transformation is, I must be returning back to the inn,"_

_As she left, she was drawn back into the alcove by surprise. "How long are you in Paris?" the man asked curiously._

_She shrugged her shoulders then rolled them back, counting the number of days left of her 'holiday'. "A few more days, why?"_

_It took a half of a minute for the priest to sputter the words. His conscience told him no, but the face he presented to Antoinette told her his fight inside._

_He finally uttered with some exhaustion, "Would you meet me outside of the Church tomorrow morning, eight o'clock after the morning mass?"_

_"Antoinette!"_

_"Anon!" she responded. "I don't know, wouldn't that be demising your whole purpose for Notre Dame?" she questioned._

_His eyes drifted into the milky parts of his subconscious. A squiggle of a smile surfaced. "I want to see the world through God's eyes, and that won't get me past the sanctuary of the bells," he admitted with full brimming confidence._

_"CHILD!"_

_"Anon, anon!" Antoinette drew back to the priest. His head hung high awaiting his answer. In the short seconds her brain had processed the different solutions, she found only one acceptable response that suited her. She nodded. "Very well. I'll meet you by the tavern across the way," Her head spun in the direction imagining the walls of Notre Dame barren._

_"Eight o'clock?" he confirmed._

_She picked up her skirts and began to pace herself to the doors. "Yes! Goodbye! Wait!" She stopped in realization. Antoinette forgotten one thing. "What's your name?"_

_He stepped back into the light and out of the alcove. The robes slimmed down and the black and white suited his dark hair. His remarkable face cleared from the air of mystery to a hint of familiarity. His moustache, though small, was straightened, not curled. Just the way Antoinette had envisioned him all along._

_"Aramis," The name matched the face._

_Her breath hitched several times. The corset tightened and the puffed sleeves seemed to blow hot air through her body. The bold curve to her personality straightened out. She felt the change he had described. Total and completely anew. But not metamorphed._

_"Farewell, Aramis," she said staring into his eyes one last time before fleeing to her impatient father._

_His hand waved anxiously. "God be with you!" he called. The hand slowed stopped and settled for the solitude near him. The candles began to burn out the last oils of wax before he submerged back into his office._

_"Antoinette.." The whisper of her name fell on his lips.._

****

**Whoa! Some interesting conversations, right? Marie de Rohan was a real person. Her husbands and child mentioned were real as well. Who is not real is Antoinette although she had three daughters with Claude but no sons which could obviously ruin a marriage back then. **

**Until next time! Read and review!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Saintly

**So happy to get this out of the way :) I think I'll treat myself to ice cream and a movie for finishing this tonight. Thank you all so much for reading so far and hope the work I produce is hope to people's expectations. If not speak up. Read and review! :)**

**Disclaimer: In no shape or form do I own The Three Musketeers franchise in media or copyrights. Do have though a paid copy of the movie which is a delight to watch over and over for the story lol Dialogue is soooo much fun to work with.**

The flurry of maiden skirts rushed past the drawn curtains. Morning glow averted from window to window, chasing down the scurrying maid. Her hands ran faster than her feet. The sun and the woman stopped the chase upon the woman opening the door and quickly disappearing.

Unsatisfied, sun beams poured on the adjacent window, looking into the distressed maid attending a sitting damsel, arms caressing a book by her sofa. The Comtesse eyed lazily at the short of breath maid with a few strands out of place in her bun. She fixed the askew lapel and apron.

The laid back Comtesse earmarked the page she left before putting it back in it's place on the bookcase. She gestured for the maid to sit by her vanity. Antoinette glanced in the mirror at the nervous maid. She fingered the wrinkles on her skirt, shaking. Almost as if she were bursting at the seams.

"What is it?" she asked anxious for news.

Her long awaited exasperation puffed out of her lungs. "My lady! My lady, the Queen wishes to speak with you," Her hands covered her mouth to control her breathing once more.

Antoinette quirked an eyebrow. She opened her mouth before setting her eyebrows furrowed. She glanced at the vanity. Many glass vials of perfume and eau de fleurs sat along the mirror wall with the cosmetics. In the middle of it all was an hald opened portrait locket with a silohette made three years prior. Her manicured fingertips traced the gold edges and then the shadowy marks of a man.

Her eyes lit up in excitement. She hurried away from her vanity, too happy to conceal her excitement.

"Perhaps it's about my request to leave the palace. Aha! Today's the day, Millie," she said running back and forth from her drawers to her closet pulling out fabrics and shoes all around. None seemed good enough except for the green velvet with lace around the bodice and a brown belt embellishment round her slim waist.

"Today's the day I'll see my Aramis," She hugged the fabric to herself. Antoinette hurried to the changing room and immeditaley switched the two outfits without a moment to lose.

"Most glad for yourself, my lady. Shall I pack some things for you?" In all her giddiness she forgot about packing some things. She pulled the strings tightly around her back as she appeared before Millie picking up the discarded clothing all over.

"Yes, yes. Thank you Millie!" she cried leaving the room in a short burst of energy. Her legs kept up as fast as her skirts allowed her. She took a sharp corner just within the reach of the Queen's chambers when she roughly bumped into someone.

Spotless clothing but the one wrinkle she disturbed, the weary eyed Captain Rochefort gleamed a mewl of irritation. Antoinette fixed her ruffled appearance taking one step back. Rochefort's left hand hovered over his sword with proximity that of a sly cat.

His gruff voice sent shivers to her. "Is it proper to be running around the Queen's wing recklessly?" his voice trembled over his emphasis.

"No, Monsier Rochefort," Her eyes narrowed to the floor silently cursing his name in her mind.

He growled, "On your way," His stealth allowed him to exit the vicinity before Antoinette could unhold the her biting tongue. She resumed, at the proper pace, to the Queen's double entrance doors with two footmen guarding for protection.

She cleared her throat when she knocked courteously on the door. She counted five seconds before a small feminine voice called.

"_Entre_," She grinned. The Queen has been paying attention to the language more. On the rare occasion she used a mingle or German, French and or Italian to murmur her frustrations as Queen. All of which Antoinette studied, but French was her native and the Queen's sovergn language.

The Queen sat at a table for two with a tea tray cart to the side. Her gaze shifted from the window to her cup. two ladies in waiting were summoned elsewhere in her chambers, leaving Antoinette and the Queen alone.

Her Majesty's hair was brushed out and curled up as she wore it often. Her peach and golden threaded dress seemed tanned compared to her flushed skin. Only the pale roses on her cheeks stood out with any color. Even her frail eyelashes with kohl grayed in the sunlit window.

"Your Majesty," She curtsied.

Her chest heaved off the stone she burdened at the sight of her lady-in-waiting. "My dear friend, Antoinette. How many times have I told you to call me Anne?" Her smile outshone the glow of the sun.

"Once more I'm afraid," She welcomed herself to the empty seat and boiling cup of tea provided. Antoinette's lips had chapped too many times when it came to tea time that she accustomed the development of smoldering hot tea without a sore or shrunken bruise. "You requested my presence?" Her delight in her tea honeyed her words.

The Queen's cup was empty with not a single drop left. Closer inspection gave way to her cup was dry, clearly not used. "Could you be a dear and helped me with my tea?" she asked sweetly.

"Yes, Your Majesty- Anne," she faltered her correction. "One lump or two?" She tried hiding away the embarrassment.

Another sigh came from the Queen. Her jewel dripped hand covered a cheek in sadness. Her leaning figure towards the sun, outstretched not particularly caring about tea.

"Might as well be two. Two teaspoons of milk if you please," she whispered light as air. The diamonds on her hand sparkled, nearly taking out Antoinette's left eye. Her hand tipped the kettle, pouring the tea and followed the instructions from the Queen exactly so.

Antoinette filled the gap of silence makign casual conversation other than tea noises. "Your Majesty seems distressed?"

She folded her hands in her lap looking like a guilty child rather than a ruling monarch. "Wooing the King and him to me is too much to bear. He doesn't seem interested. My fantasy of an arranged marriage has been bound on solid gold hoop," She gestured to the extraordinary diamond band the King gifted to her when she was still in Austria, awaiting pending news on the betrothal.

She eyed the cup for any deformities before handing the cup to the Queen. Her gold spoon spun around the liquid, releasing a ball of steam out of the way.

"Has he ever joined Your Ladyship in the gardens? At the dinner table?" she wondered.

The cup tested on her lips. She blew the crisp steam once more before tasting it. Her lips pursed from sudden heat clenching her teeth. Her jaw, aggravated, settled to it's alignment.

"He says the sun is too frail on him. The only time we speak to each other is when we dine. Even then, it isn't enough," Her eyes cast low to the cup's rim. a finger traced the outer edges and the swirling patterns around it. "Always something or someone to attend to,"

Antoinette felt horrible for the misunderstood Anne. Her heart was in the right place: to love France and all she had to offer. But with that came a price. Politics. A place no woman felt entirely comforted. She felt indifferent to the Queen's usual chippery behavior. After spending a year at court, now tended to be the worst depression in her moods.

"Have you talked to the Cardinal about his schedule?" Antoinette offered grazing her lips back to her cup.

She shook her head. "I am not afraid. Only cautious. Cardinal has every right to nulify the marriage without reason. Might be what is best, but I wouldn't. Not for the sake of France at it's ends," Her eyes squinted unlady-like. Tear ducts wallowed in her wake. Antoinette set the cup back to its tray before patting the Queen's right hand, on top of the band she pushed further up.

"France admires your bravery," Her comfort words did little to lift her spirits. The Queen looked away ashamed of her emotions getting the better of her.

"What bravery? The only thing I've done for her people is to marry a king who wishes me away," Her voice stuttered with pity. She swallowed down the tough piece of biscuit the cooks laid out. The burnt edges crumbled to the plate in agony. The Queen napkined her face before resuming back to her normal features.

"But, enough of my troubles. I summoned you here for a special gift," Her eyes still with sorrow did not match the king smile she gave.

Antoinette waited for this moment, but felt this wasn't the right mind set for the Queen to bestow her grant to leave her in a moment of despair. "I don't require gifts, Anne. Your companionship over the year has been most welcoming and aiding," she downplayed the rising emotion she fled to come here.

A soft giggle emerged. "Thought you might say that. But in this case, it was most imperative you receive this one," From the foldings of her skirts was a folded and ribboned red parchment scroll consisting of the signet of the Cardinal. It was handed to Antoinette.

"The Cardinal's seal?" she muttered to herself, unscrolling the piece of paper. She read aloud, "_Who so bears this letter has the utmost right and privilege to come and go as pleased in the estate_,"

The Queen laughed to herself at Antoinette's msot shocked surprise. Never in her waiting she dreamt of the Cardinal signing of upon his word her arrival and departure. If anything she would have word from the Queen. But even then would be risky going and coming. her hands dared not crush the paper as she read over the sweetened words of her rescue.

"Cardinal signed two for me," She replied. "One intented for Lady Constance, who delivers some of the local French groceries and crafts I do enjoy and the other to Lady Annamaria whose father is gravely ill," Her voice insinuated mischief underneath her sweet demeanor.

She cocked her head. "But we don't have a Lady Annamaria,"

A sly smile crept its way on the Queen's face. "Cardinal doesn't need to know everything of my services. This is your permission to leave the palace starting today," she said watching with amusement of Antoinette's explosion of emotions.

She asked curiously in her inner delusional happiness, "You are sending me away,"

"Not forever," she said folding another napkin on her lap. "But I do think more than two week's time maybe be a small penance for a year's separation," Her kindness expressed on her face and onto the proof of paper.

Astonished, it was high time for her away from court. At the other side of that coin, Antoinette had made shelter with the Queen. They had both had reserved feelings against the Cardinal and his guards. They both loved France and the culture. And as of lately had become a confidant above everything else. Her genuine smile felt small to the gift bestowed.

"I do not know what to say, Anne,"

Her smile played a little. "A thank you should suffice," She erupted in laughter.

Immeditaley she hastened out her thanks. "Yes, a thousand blessings to you. Your kindness is above and beyond," Both women stood up to hug the other. Antoinette's gaze turned to the sun. She now understood why the Queen stared long at the sun but did not feel it's warmth. She was waiting to share it with someone. With the Queen's blessing, she could soak the sun with her Aramis.

"Of course, my dear. One of us should be happy," She looked towards the windowed sun. "Now, go pack your things. I expect Aramis is waiting for you,"

Antoinette didn't need another word to send her off.

It was by chance Antoinette caught one of last cartwagons delivering food in the district the Musketeers lived. The maid, Millie, helped with half of the suitcases leaving the rest of the rushed packing up to Antoinette. With the surge of hope lifting her heart, the dreadful task of packing or lugging them out the palace wasn't as bad as she believed it.

Her distraction of imagining the old Aramis into the present. What had he done? Was he down? Had he left her for someone else? His last letter was months ago. Though it was in length enough for three scrolls, she couldn't shake the anxiety of meeting him again. She had written often. Most of her allowance was spent in postage and inkwell.

"Nearly there?" The burly taximan asked. His horse, worn thin, stomped past the ground like a proud trooper in the last minutes of battle. She sat besides the man with her luggage besides the seasoned fruits. The smell of fresh apples and pears speared through the aroma of her perfume, giving her a natural essence.

She gestured past the narrow ways. "Just around the bend and down the street. Second to the left,"

The man followed the directions with little to difficulty. HIs experience of guiding carts made executed turns and near to death stops in traffic. The horse stopped his momentum at the shabby home with a rusty balcony barely used and a rooftop in dear need of tarring for the next winter.

She pulled her coin purse and handed him 15 francs for the man's trouble. And ten sous for a couple apples. The man checked the gold and silver coins, testing each with a crook of his teeth. Satisfied with the authencity, he smiled toothily at her.

"God bless you, Madame!"

Her smile returned as she helped herself to grabbing a few green and golden apples. Both of which are Aramis and Athos' favorite. Porthos would eat anything and the stubby man who ran the place as a serf...

"Good lady! You are back! Such a treat," the high-toned Planchet rang in her ears.

...well, he would take anything.

His long stringy hair matted at his cherub face. His rotund figure stumbled over the front porch to shake the lady's hand vigorously. Antoinette smiled to see a friendly face.

"It is nice to see you again, Planchet," she said holding the apples by the apron of her skirt, keeping them from bruising. "Could you help me bring some of my things for me?" she asked sweetly wanting the man and his horse with goodies to go on their way to sell in the afternoon heat.

He nodded. "Happy to oblige, miss!" He picked up the travel case and struggled to not shake the arm from sudden weight. As she walked into the house, the smell of raw and overcooked meats overwhelmed her. She stood on the threshold looking at the mess around the fireplace and the table with stains and cups about. Bottles of wine scattered on the floor with flies lodging inside for the last tasty morsel.

"Ugh, still the same pigsty I remember," she patted the A frame ceiling to the cooking area. Bubbling pots and pans of grey sludge toppled over to the floor. She half expected the wood beneath to disapparate.

The heaving Planchet with all five suit cases on his arms, back, and one on slung around his neck trudged in. He marched through and set one down on the seat cushion feeling instantly relieved from the lightened load.

"Least... the smell... has improved," he wheezed.

She tsked at the state. It was even worse upstairs to their rooms no doubt. She cringed at the thought of entering Porthos' lair of a room. Last time she barged in without permission, he was half way devouring one woman and another across the wall waiting for the next turn. Embarrassment flushed her cheeks as she promised herself never to go there again.

The olfactory sense worked over again. Something tinged the smell in a much worse factor. Her eyes watered. "Unfortunately it's odorous as sour red tomatoes. Thank you, Planchet," she said pinching her nose as he unloaded the cases.

"Oof! No worries here!" he said.

She ran up the stairs trying to drive the smell of the kitchen out of her nose. The first door on the left was hers and Aramis'. Antoinette opened the door to reveal the cozy one bed, two bed tables with two facing desks for their own studies and work. Except her half of the room was cleaned away without a speck of dust.

She smiled hestiantly. _Aramis never did like the dust. Upset my allergies._ she thought as she trailed her hands over her desk. The only presentable object was an inkwell and feather on top of parchment.

A simple sigh filled her half. Aramis' things could easily take up the luxury of the other room but he decided years ago she deserved the same amount of space as he had. Thoughtful and generous. The few good habits he picked up from the church.

"So empty without my things in place," she murmured. Feeling the sad feeling of homesick, she needed a better impression. And the first things first before unpacking would be to spruce up the place. A part of a welcome home gesture on her part.

She treaded down the stairs to see Planchet stirring the boiling pot. The pot hissed in return and snapped at his fingers. He waved them furiously as he muttered incoherent French.

"Well, this house won't simply do. I'll shall have to waste a day cleaning it. Where are the boys anyway, Planchet?" she announced starting to clear off the used dishes to the pump water sink for thorough rinsing and scrubbing.

He counted off, "Doing what they do best. Athos hangs around the tavern drinking his sorrows away. Porthos has found himself a new mistress,"

Over her shoulders she asked, "I bet her purses are spent on him?" Remembering his old antics were tricks and trades up his sleeevs.

Planchet excalimed, "With a new wardrobe and everything!" Planchet came from nothing. Poor just like the rest of them. Originally he was found in the streets delivering dairy goods to the market. However the boys needed an innkeeper from when they were away. Who better than a country bum who would work for minimum wage? As much as they roughly treated him, he knew his masters could have been a lot crueler.

"Where is Aramis?" she asked finally.

"He's a inspector for the city. Writes little sigh-tastions," he mumbled lastly, too dumbfounded to remember the word Aramis taught him.

"I believe you mean citations?" she extended the word to him.

Planchet snapped his fingers in recognition. "Yeah, that!"

She wiped the daps of water off her hand with a towel when the dishes were cleaned off. Antoinette summoned her hair into an elegant bun as she glanced at the disarray left in the kitchen and dining room. A puff of exasperation and the rolling of her sleeves, and she was off to work.

"I'll clean the kitchen and Aramis' room," she ordered. "You clean the other two and the balcony. It's a bit rusty and splotchy,"

He saluted off. "'Course Madame!"

Antoinette admired her handiwork as she leaned on the mop with a foot. The table was polished off. Wine bottles were thrown out. The strange odor had shifted to the garabage outside. She lit a candle on the table and started to rearrange the fireplace. Antoinette brushed off the ashes, cleaned the poker, washed the few linens scattered, and unpacked her belongings all within the hour and half.

"Couldn't be any cleaner," she unraveled the apron round her waist and discarded her cleaning tools and apron in the closet. "Planchet, I'm going out to find Aramis!" she called after heading towards the door.

"Yes, miss!" His voice reverbrated off the walls. "Whoaaa!" The crash of liquid, wooden bucket and person collided above her. She winced at the commotion.

She called concerned, "What was that?"

"Don't worry!" His aches masked in his shaky voice. "The bucket cushioned my fall!"

She waited a few moments at the groans helet out weezingly. "Alright," She lifted an eyebrow and left the house. Her mind was nowhere on finding Athos or Porthos. She avoided the streets with taverns and apparel store fronts. That would be the last place to go to.

Antoinette searched with single intention for Aramis.

The near to noon heat built up from her wanderings. She swore she traveled in a complete circle, passing carts and carriages thrice. Antoinette huffed in annoyance as she leaned to a vacant cart with nothing but dust piling up. Her elbow leaned on the frame for some support. Her exhaustion left her irritated, hungry, and restless. After this waiting she had to wait a little more?

She supposed waiting was a game she was not use to. Antoinette wanted things her way and in record time. Haste makes waste. Not that this trip around town was a waste. Just exhausting to hunt down one man in all of Paris.

"A full hour and no sign of him," Her hand covered her eyes from the beating sun. "I'm getting as close to him as I was at the palace," she murmured surely that the people passing by her thought her crazy to see her alone with only an empty caravan for comfort.

Gravel was thrown by the boot of her shoe in aggravation. In her mind she drew a map of Paris with basic block formations of the city walls. She dug in deeper to the alleyways and narrow passages that surrounded the roads. Calculating in her head, she had guessed she was a mile away from her original starting position. If she paced herself evenly at a slight running walk, she would make it in time to the home in half an hour.

She moved from her spot to resume her trip home when a throat cleared behind her. She sighed as she turned about.

"Excuse me, miss? Is this your cart?" the low voice emitted. The click of ink on short paper rippled. Her face squinted to see a man garbed in professional black attire: jacket and breeches. His face was too low to recognize as he was a few feet away for judgement. "Leaving animals unattended and roaming around is prohibited in the city. I'm afraid I'll have to leave you with a citation," He ripped something from the pad and handed it out to her.

She interrupted, "No, this is not my cart-" Her hesitation noticeable when she stepped closer. There, in the sunlight shining above them, in casual occurence was a would-be priest with dark hair and a thin moustache that seemed to bejust as smooth as his hair.

"Aramis?" she wondered out loud.

The man stopped his writing another note on the citation when he heard his name. He turned his head in all directions for the voice until he narrowed it to her eyes. The paper in his hands fluttered away in the wind with fresh ink spilt. He scrambled to put away his things and took two giant steps. His placing stopped just in front of her. He craned his neck low to identify with his eyes.

Both of their breaths hitched in recognition. Slowly he withdrew, "Antoinette? Is it really you?"

She let go of the aching built in her chest as the tears began to flow. She caught her hand to her mouth in surprise of her sudden outburst.

"Yes," She said embracing him into a hug.

His arms twined around her being, feeling the dull warmth that hugged her curves gently. Antoinette let her head barely brush the nook between his neck and shoulder to breath in his earthly scent and the faint aroma of late night wine he devulged time from time. Her hands furrowed into the jacket, clinging onto the lfie of him.

His shaky hand petted down her head, relieved to imagine the silkly curls hitting his hand everytime rather than dreaming of it.

"I thought you had forgotten me," he kissed her neck tenderly. "I wrote to you but no word back,"

She lifted her head away. "What? I did write to you. Lengthy pages in scrolls. How did-," Remembering the long scrolls she put so much thought to before handing them off to a page.

Aramis had his suspicions. "Richelieu,"

A dark storm cloud set over her features. Aramis had thought overwise to anger her. Of course it would had to be the Cardinal. Her mind darkened. Richelieu had always been the pit of the problem, but she never forgot who swung the pendulum.

"Don't forget his half-ass sidekicks Rochefort and Jussac," she muttered coherently.

Aramistraced his thumb down the side of her cheek. Paled skin met his semi-year round tan he procurred over the years. The marketplace had lengthened in persons, but he paid them no mind. Her dark mood did not swirl similiar effects he had. He smashed whatever hatred climbing up to focus on what was more important.

"Never mind them," he told her. "I'm not thinking about kissing them," He captured her lips ina frenzy of emotions. Sweetness at long last tasted on her mouth. The sun kissed the top of their heads and intwined hands. She pulled apart long enough to close her eyes and rest her forehead against his. There little intimate moment seemed to be too private for public and so onlookers fled the scene.

"We've been apart too long," he whispered his breath.

She rolled her eyes to the side, still managing to not smile like a fool. The playful cat inside of her clawed out. "You off duty?" she purred with lust in her eyes.

He threw aside the citation as if garbage. "Consider it an early lunch break," he said dragging the both of them privately to a shadowed alleyway. She giggled at his rash thinking as he caressed her body.

After the dozenth time fixing her skirts from Aramis' greedy hand after their repartee, she swatted his hand. Antoinette kept his hand at bay on her arm to lead her down the streets.

"An inspector?" she asked incredulously.

He told her, "It was either that or sewage manager. I already have to deal with living with Planchet as it is," Their march through the streets were lazy and unneeded to be as haste as the dealers around them. Why should they rush? They had all the time in the world to worry about wasting time, together.

She patted his leather covered chest. "Oh, don't be so hard on him, Aramis. He means well," she insisted.

He shook his head profusedly disagreeing with her. "Not when it comes to burning the stove and setting the curtains on fire," Antoinette winced. It was something Planchet was good at- making a mess out of nothing. "Good gracious, we've missed your woman's touch about the place," He hugged his arms around her shoulders.

She laughed mercifully. "Your in luck. Unless Planchet lighted a fire with the water bucket, the house is in pristine order," Her head tilted to kiss the side of his cheek to his jaw bone.

"Delightful," he said indifferently. His fingers wrapped around hers, twitching. An old habit he had acquired upon sensitive topics. Antoinette grasped them gently, urging him to continue. "How was life in the palace?" He came about.

Antoinette's knees seized up momentarily. She coughed swallowing air down the wrong pipe. Her hand flew to her chest to calm herself. Aramis took no notice of her antics.

"Constricting," she found the word. Antoinette loosened the conversation to other factors. She did not need to tell Aramis her worries from the palace. He already had enough on his plate to deal with than her dealings. "I believe I've lost five pounds from carrying so much clothing," she joked twirling a side for emphasis.

He murmured to agree. His eyes had the pleasure of wandering back to her figure, which had only changed slightly since the last time he had seen it. "Definitely around your legs,"

She caught her breath. "Are you insisting I had fat legs?" Her eyes narrowed murderously at Aramis.

He did not catch his mistake but did think it wise to change topics once more. "No, but I don't complain of your generous bosom," he laugehd at ease. Antoinette let go of his hand to drift two paces to the side. A pout of disapproval made her lover laugh more.

"Such indeceny before noon," she chided the ex-priest.

"You live for it,"

"You crave my attention,"

He countered, adjusting a firm grip around her hip bone, "Only when it matters, which is all the time," Surely she should find bruises underneath the clothing come morning time.

A sigh of exhaustion escaped from Antoinette. Never in her dreams there first reunion would be one of sexual frustration. She had imagined the way it started but with changes to the scenery to a garden at moonlight- Aramis' favored time of the day.

Two finger rubbes her headache. "I think we've been deprived for so long the banter between us never ends," Her eyes drooped.

With no sensitivity he ran along, "I'm a man with needs. And those needs have been dormant for a year," His remindment only brought her mood swinging rapantly.

"I have needs to, you know," she bellowed.

He stopped alongside the fruit stands and balanced an apple along his arm without glancing at it for reassurance. His confidance the apple wouldn't drop amazed her. "Yes, but yours are controllable and mine are needier," He replaced the apple to it's spot on the stand before the vender noticed a part of his stock missing without payment.

"Typical male response," She furrowed her brow. Her hands rested along his upper arm, feeling the muscles underneath bulge. "So Mr. City Inspector, what do you plan on doing tonight,"

Antoinette had in mind a bottle of the wine the Queen had sent along with her. Twenty years vintage and one of her favorites. Alongside she would accompany the bottle with Aramis' dish of riverfish from the fish market with homemade tartar seeing as it was Lent and a Friday. She internally made note not to let Planchet out of her sight when she left the food or kitchen unattended.

"Attending to our needs," Antoinette lifted her head up in curiosity.

Her hand turned, palm upside. "I meant for dinner,"

He whispered back to her ear, "Can't we skip to dessert?"

"Before mass?" she bellowed.

He groaned at the reminder. His hand hit the wall they occupied. The faint smell of hay, bowel movements, and other odors infiltrated their noses. However living in Paris had it's adavatages such as high tolerance for smells. The bridge above them quieted but not enough for Antoinette to listen. She had thought she heard, "You're right,"

Quietly laughing, she lift a hand to the ear and called, "Pardon, I have a bit of trouble hearing,"

"You're right," He kissed her in his arms. He hugged her tightly as they proceeded to walk the rest of the way. Her giggles were efficently proving to be the pivot Aramis needed to have his way with her in all ways than one. She escaped another enjoyable kiss to joust him with wordplay.

"Glad you come to your senses," She smield affectionately. Aramis crooked his head over to the outdoor stable for passengers to leave their horses for nearby business. His eyes seemed transfixed to the pile of dung left behind by a black and white spotted horse. If not closely inspected it coudl have been mistaken for a cow.

Aramis left her side and retrieved the pad from inside his leather coat to the creature. The saddle has been worn out and used roughly. Not much was on the horse, indicating the rider had not very much on his person. "Aramis?"

He extracted a writing utensil. "Duty calls," he said not bothering to look up as he inspected the 'crime'. "And from the smell of it too," Aramis crinkled his nose in disgust.

"The exciting life of a Musketeer turned renegade," Her eyes bored from his new job. Nothing thrilled his eyes as he wrote upon the ticket. His hand wrote for him, not the other way it would have been had it been a sword in his hand.

"Not my first choice," His eyes pointed. The ticket ripped from the citation notepad. He tucked the ticket to the saddle just as a man- or well a grown up boy walked around the corner. Aramis took the hand of his lady and motioned to be on their way.

A nearby voice of a man- boy- cried in utterance. "What the hell? 5 francs? Hey! Hey!"

Aramis turned the both of them around to see a country boy with a feathered hat, wearing thin boots, and simple peasantry clothes. His gloved hands clutched the citation.

"Oh dear, an unsatisfying customer. However will you fight them off now?" she told him as the boy stepped closer to them. HIs hair was brown and strands were down to his shoulders. His face seemed handsome enough but nothing particularly standing out to Antoinette as she tucked her arm to the side.

"Don't patronize me," he said.

The boy handed out the ticket in outrage. "What is this?" he demanded.

"It's a citation," Aramis said. The boy eyed him weirdly. "It's a ticket," Aramis offered a short unfriendly smile. "Failure to remove animal bowel movements from public area," he explained. His eyes gestured to the slanted writing below.

The boy, still not understanding, said, "French,"

Aramis sighed, his lady next to him muffled her giggles. "Your horse took a dump on the street," Another non-friendly smile appeared and disappeared on the spot. Antoinette eyed the boy's reaction, unbelieving of the ticket.

"You're joking," the boy said. He looked towards the beautiful lady at his side for help but his gaze unwavered.

Aramsi tucked an arm around Antoinette possessively. "That's what they all say," he repeated his line.

The stranger huffed in anger. "You know what?" He crumbled the ticket single handedly and threw it against Aramis's chest. It pitifully rebounded down to the ground. The boy pointed towards Aramis. "Cooper's Yard, St. Germain, 2:00," he instructed as he stormed off without a chance to respond.

Antoinette leaned her head over Aramis' figure studying the stance the boy obtained.

"Strange boy," he said walking away.

"I like him," she admitted daringly. Aramis sharpened his glare at her. "Bold, dashing. Could be a mini-Porthos for all we know," She said dropping her head on his shoulder lovingly to appease him.

Aramis rolled his eyes. "In that case, an arrest should have been made,"

Antoinette waited outside the home while Aramis grabbed his sword and feathered hat. She smiled as not too far away was a gentle giant with a single gold hoop in his ear. He brought home bundles of wrapped clothing along with a very _dignified _and _dashing_ cane. He dropped the parcels on the ground with the cane leanign against a post to hug a willing, laughing Antoinette.

His bear-like arms crushed her against their ribs. A pop from her back brought her instant relief. Most likely from wearing too many straightening corsets.

"Little lamb has wandering back to her shepherd," he said. His head turned behind her in jovial manner at Aramis. His hand held the top of the sheathed sword and the other holding the hat to his head.

"Porthos," she tipped her head.

Porthos stepped back suddenly with a hand over his wounded heart. He shivered. "So cold, what do they make you do in the palace? Freeze the Cardinal's shriveled heart?"

She laughed coldly, "Just about, old friend," Antoinette hid her bitter resentment into Aramis' covered shoulder. Her head dipped down as her hand self consciously waved down the strand of hair in her face.

Porthos whistled at Antoinette. She twirled under his guidance. "Look at the three of us? Spiffed up with nowhere to go!" he said dully.

Aramis, not one for frivolty such as his amused friend twirling his passion, said deadpanned, "Athos has called for us as seconds in a duel,"

Antoinette stopped her flutterering. She scoffed, "Without me? Shame on him," Wagging a finger at a pretend Athos made of air and dust billowing from trotting animals.

He eased his hands over the tips of her shoulders. "They'll be no fighting for you today, love," he settled. Her annoyance groaned as she kicked a rock out of place like a child. She sighed flirtatiously walking to the front door step. Her eyes blinked innocently as her hand traced the doorway.

"Then I'll let the bottle of the Queen's reserved wine she lent me go to waste to Planchet," she said cupping her hand to mouth to call for the serf.

A great commotion came from Porthos' new cane, rebounding off the pavement to roll to Aramis' feet. His jaw clenched. "Filthy indiscretion!" he yelled throwing his hands up. "Aramis, hold your tongue in front of this lovely creature," he bated his anger to Aramis, whom had nothing changed upon Porthos' mood.

He scuttled out a tsk towards Antoinette who batted her doe eyes. "Devious. Playing the Porthos-wine card,"

Her posture leaned upon the door, arms behind her back. "Just as bad as using the sexist comment card," She smirked.

In a bundle, Porthos gathered the tiny woman into his great arms again. This time he petted her head and bellowed fake non-existent tears down his mopy face.

"Oh how the year dragged on without you!" he complained.

At precisely noon, the trio of misfortunate individuals, dressed for success, approached the continued construction in the St. Germain district in Cooper's Yard. Foundation of stone and concrete in brick formation stood against a wall for drying before slabbing them on to the frame. The wooden frame looked to be either another bank or barracks for the Cardinal's guards to occupy.

Athos preffered a tavern. Aramis suggested a little monastery open to the public. Porthos, being Porthos, wanted a brothel filled with the finest women from all over Europe stocked in a single housing. Antoinette neither cared nor paid attention to the men taking small breaks for eating or playing dice games with wage slips betted on the table.

The construction took up the whole left side of Cooper's Yard. Surrounding the yard were two stories tall connecting buildings for homes and live in workshops for apprentices. In the midde of it all was the same young man eating an apple at ease, spitting out a seed upon meeting the man he had first quarrled with- Athos.

Antoinette noticed his pulled back hair all these years had done nothing when the swords came out. After months of begging prior he relinquished a quick trim, taking years off his scruffy appearance. Athos studied his opponent, sword eagerly resting in his hand on the blade on his shoulder.

"So, are you eager to meet your maker?" They heard Athos ask the boy.

The boy stood in perfect posture, but with sketchy footing. Clearly his youth did not teach him to steady the blade with his balance. Or perhaps he minded the lesson.

"I'm afraid I have other appointments," he shrugged, taking off the hat and coat. His freed attire laid waste in a bundle behind him.

"You'll miss them, I'm afraid,"

"Well, I'll try my best to be on time," He looked curiously at the three people- two men and a woman- standing not too far from Athos. Aramis hitched a leg onto a laying barrel. Porthos stood to the side and Antoinette cocked her head forward with cunning stealth. The young boy did not know the others knew the concealed weapons of choice she hid under her clothing for her own protection and advantage. The curl of a smile began in the uppermost left hand corner.

"My seconds," Athos gestured.

Antoinette flashed a sincere smile in his direction. He welcomed her a nod in return.

"You!" Porthos sneered. "You're fighting this rascal?"

"My appointments," the boy pointed a sword to each. "1:00," Porthos. "2:00," Aramis. "Maybe 3:00," he smirked to the disgusted Antoinette. Aramis motioned to grab his sword, had it not been Antoinette to stop his actions. She glared at the boy as she pushed the semi-sheathed sword down his belt loop.

"Ease off," She said not taking her eyes off the incredibly brave but dumb boy in her path. The stranger should count the stars for luck, for fortune happened to save him once. Antoinette sighed internally. _Fortune won't be as kind to save him thrice more._

Athos questioned, "How long have you been in Paris?"

"Arrived this morning," he answered fingering the blade back to his shoulder.

Without a moment of hilarity Athos regained, :You have been busy,"

She whispered connivingly to Porthos, "He gets around quicker than any of the brothels," Porthos grumbled under his breath.

The boy played around with the tasseled handle. "Patience is not one of my virtures,"

Porthos interrupted, "Neither are good manners,"

The young man turned curtly towards Porthos. "Wait for your turn, old man,"

He returned his scornful laugh. "What would you like me to put on your headstone? 'Little shit'?" He asked furiously.

"D'Artagnan," he gave away.

"D'Artagnan," Athos repeated. Each Musketeer looked at each other for any recognition of the name. Antoinette stuided the boy with the proud name once more. She tasted his name in her mind for a trace. No country boy bore a strong name that fit the streets of Paris as well as D'Artagnan.

"I'm Athos. This is Porthos, Aramis, and Antoinette. Aramis' lover," he introduced one by one. His smirk turned upright when D'Artagnan's eyes wandered over Antoinette and then to her murderous lover.

His jaw opened then closed. "The Three Musketeers," he breathed.

She stepped forth to D'Artagnan. She laughed humorlessly at his expression and the dropping of his sword into the ground. "Yet you've managed to piss everyone one of them off,"

"I've heard of you," he strung together. "From my father, a Musketeer himself. In fact, I came to Paris to be one of you," His arrogance peacocked out much to Antoinette's displeasure. He already acted like one, might as well let the boy suffer the consequences.

Aramis glared. "I'm afraid you're a little late," Syallables bounced off the end of each word.

"What happened?" His face furrowed.

Athos deeply regretted ever meeting the boy. Instead of allowing his inhibitions drown back at the tavern, he slurred his way to battle. Now his unwanning memories of year past came back.

"Oh, a bad mission. Budget cuts. Cardinal, progress. Take your pick," The group hunched back to each deteriating factor to break them at sharp corners.

Aramis broke the silence. "Well then, welcome to Paris. Pity we'll have to kill you," His short smile returned. Antoinette sat on an unopened barrel as D'Artagnan contemplated his choices. She folded her hands like the way his mind replayed his offers. As much as innocent blood shouldn't be bled over three- well technically four if you counted the other offense to Aramis- seperate disputes, his arrogance the boy fueled would get the best of him one day.

_Shame he'll not live to see that day._

He sighed in disappointment. "Well, if I can't become a Musketeer, I might as well fight one. Or three," His sword pointed at Athos. Porthos laughed half-heartedly at the naivity of the boy and the lack of self esteem he didn't show.

"Kill him already. It's lunchtime and I'm starving," he remarked the time.

Athos, more than happy to oblige, withdrew the sword hung around the belt hoop. Both men waved the swords across the hair as a signal of respect and commencement to duel.

Antoinette squirmed in her seat when the ground underneath her roused. She glanced at the ground for any indents or if perhaps Porthos was stomping his foot in his impatience. She listened intently for a sound.

Thundering of weapons and footsteps were approaching nearer and nearer. But nowhere in her line of sight did she see such a thing. Her eyes glanced to her side at Aramis.

Athos barely brushed the sword, in stance, when the duel intervened at the wrong time and the wrong person.

"Halt!" Commander Jussac called, grinning at the catch of the day- three ex-Musketeers, a lady-in-waiting-who-wasn't-waiting, and a newcomer embraced in heartbeats away from a bloody mess. What a group he caught.

**For here and out is the following scenes from the movie. No I'm not writing the extra scenes about the Cardinal and Milady. Though they had significant value to the plot, it's a waste since most of the story is sort of in Antoinette's perspective. However to fully understand the story, watching the movie would be beneficial in case I forget a detail or don't explain on a certain subject.**

**Now taking requests for new stories! Have a favorite book/movie/etc.? Send a message and I'll see what I can do about it.** :)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Mind Your Valor

**Disclaimer: Do not own the Three Musketeers.**

**This is the St. Germain Square fight scene, which is broken up in a series of individual fights put together. I hope it's not as confusing when I switch from character to character. I always dreaded to write this chapter because of the intense swordplay that's too well performed to write about. :) Here goes nothing!**

**Enjoy! Read and review :)**

The clanging of swords gave way to the intentional smirk of Jussac. His clena cut black and red uniform with pinnets of the French and Cardinal's emblem starked out in blood red with black outlinings. His swept blond hair was tied back with a band, not wanting to miss any of the action.

From all sides similiar dressed men with spears and helmets ran in square formation to their positions. All of which circled the Musketeers and D'Artagnan. Antoinette observed the individual men. At a glance she could see twenty men all scattered about, with thin lines for lips. The Cardinal guards weren't an honor, more like hired mercenaries from all corners of France and her provinces.

Athos groaned sheathing his sword. "Jussac,"

Said man clapped his leather clad hands in congratulatory manner for himself. "Well, well, well. How the mighty have fallen. Dueling in defiance of the edicts?" he mocked. The cruel laughter bubbled to his mouth.

"You got tired of rolling peddlers for spare change?" The head Musketeer glared at the sad excuse for a soldier.

He held his hands up in sarcastic surrender. "Now, now. No need for such parting words," His eyes gazed over each of his prizes. The famed Athos for his resiliance, the ever silent but deadly Aramis, and the homely giant with attitude Porthos. There was some street rat with sword out to the ground. He would do away with him later.

And then. besides Aramis tucked under his arm, was the charmed Comtesse. Her posture leaned towards him but her eyes never left Jussac, unsure of his motives.

"What a bonus to your posse," he rallied snickering from his men. "A woman! Caught in the act of dueling. A lady-in-waiting, no doubt. You are suppose to be at the palace," he said pointedly walking two paces forward.

Antoinette cocked her head in amusement. An arm wrapped around her hip to back, fingers clenched white. She had no time of patience to deal with the second in command to Rochefort. Her hand in the back smoothed down the skirts in anticipation. Her eyes narrowed.

"Unlike you, I'm welcomed on the streets of Paris. With permission," Her hand graciously revealed a tiny slip of paper tucked from beneatha flimsy skirt meant as a stowaway. Her fingers twirled the paper around before letting it disappear back into the foldings.

Jussac's veins in his forehead bulged out faint blue. He waved a hand in a circle signal.

A guard yelled, "Seal the square!"

In motion, the armed men withdrew their elongated axed spears, aimed for them. She tensed towards Aramis when one became too close for comfort.

"Hardly," His face stoned. "Surrender your weapons and come along with us. Unless, of course, you would rather resist,"

Porthos grinned sardonically. "New plan. Kill the boy, kick their asses, and then go get some lunch. I could do with some excersise," He cracked a fist. Another signal and whistle blew in the air. Twenty more guards at the least filed in and took the double story ledgings where a crowd drew in excitement. More filled up the bases of the square. The men and lady covered their surroundings and their hope dismayed at the last minute arrivals.

Jussac, believing he had the upper hand, laxed. "You were saying?"

Porthos sighed uneasily. "On the other hand, discretion is the better part of valor,"

D'Artagnan scoffed in disbelief. As he was the only iminent threat seeing as he had the sword out, he pointed with it to each one of them.

"You're the Musketeers," he emphasized.

"Wrong," Athos grumbled. He surveryed the damage yet to unfold before giving it up. A trait that never suited for any of them, most especially Antoinette. "We were the Musketeers. Now we're just... us," He lacked for a better word.

From the corner of her eye, she saw just ahead six more guards enter in two lines accompanying a white steed with a male rider. His brimmed hair shadowed the eye patch but did not cover the hawk-like other one. Captain Rochefort watched Jussac and then his new ordered men surrounding the pathetic troupe he often quarreled with.

"Aramis, look," she whispered to him taking away the glance when Rochefort beamed down at her.

Athos rolled his eyes. He never had Fortune's favor. Today must have been a blasphemy to have forty six guards and two rooks of the Cardinal's. The Captain allowed his presence to stir the mutual hatred in the arena. Like a pack of sneering hyenas, the guards stilled their stance. A lock of tension was all they needed to hesitate the prey.

"Rochefort," he spat out.

Aramis, cool and collective at his best, grabbed the sword by it's sheathed hilt. He trusted them just as much as he could throw them. He suspected an outbreak sooner or later judging by Jussac's twitchy moustache. It was only a matter of time before one side broke the boundaries. And so he took necessary precautions to insure safety.

His hand brushed past Antoinette's nearest elbow. Two small, increment taps. Antoinette noted the touch and instantly began marking their route. With a line of soldiers on both houses' double flooring, it was impossible to scale up. A small construction wooden frame blocked out one entrance and it was surely not possible to run down a narrow alley.

Fighting was their last option. Antoinette concealed at least three weapons on her person at all times. However she happened to pack five items today. Two were strapped comfortably under her thighs, one dagger decorated as an ornate hair piece, another small one in her bosom. The last one tucked underneath the hem of her right arm's fabric. The righ arm moved closer to her side, shifting the hilt nearer her palm.

D'Artagnan took no chance but stomp the hesitation into battle. Her eyes darted to the hooligan glancing briefly at Rochefort before swinging into action. He knocked over Jussac and the guard behind him. He dislodged two men oncoming, one cut on the leg and the other in the stomach. Seven more men combat him from all angles, running to keep up with his newfound endurance.

D'Artagnan's movement reminded Antoinette of Athos' headstart with a brutal finish that could only be characterized as Aramis. The shy side of Porthos flourished when he knocked down a guard with a kick and improvised new footsteps to swing onto the construction loader. His hand grasped onto the rope netting around the blocks of wood. The whole loader spun around once swiftly.

The impact of the swing knocked down three men who were crawling to get up before being hit again. The men and lady watched in amusement as D'Artagnan leapt off and landed in the middle of the constructed frame. Workers scrambled to hold onto or lunge out of the guards and youth's way. D'Artagnan round house reared one man, whom lands on a guard helping him. The kick lodged the two hard against the frame. The building shook the pieces of floorboard out.

Workers clung to dear life when a vulnerable point of the structure caused the frame to lean abruptly to one side. Antoinette instinctively clutched her chest for fear of the safety of others. The thin prick against her skin made her think twice of her motions. She hoisted the small blade from under her dress to the hair behind her ear.

The crowd jolted into cheers when D'Artagnan bowed down two men before five more come at him again with cuts and bruises. Blood spots splattered here and there across the sand gravel floor like burnt rubies in the sun.

Porthos laughed at the on slaughter from a whelp to grown men. Athos's bewildered expression told all she needed to know. This boy's style was refreshing and awakened the spirit the men used to wield. Antoinette's sharp eyes looked behind the frame where D'Artagnan was faced with three men, Jussac included.

Over yonder way, she spotted a maiden with fair hair cascading to her back, showcasing beautiful hand picked flowers. Antoinette's curiosity led only to D'Artagnan slaying one man on his back and lunging his sword into another. he hit two more to his knees, much to the lady's disgression.

It was only then when she was able to see the person was Constance. She stood by the tree, holding onto the basket watching interestedly at D'Artagnan and his swordplay.

However more men sprung from their wounds to attend their fury on the boy.

"Shall we?" Aramis offered throwing his hat to the ground. Antoinette deattached the two thigh length swords from underneath swiftly. She tucked the drawstrings against the skirts for freedom of movement.

Athos and Porthos were the first to come to a distressed and completely surrounded D'Artagnan. Worn out and sweating profusedly, he sword remained out and pointed in all directions. Athos hit a sword aiming it's way to kill the boy.

Aramis, without words or permission, snuck a hand to the dagger in her hair to hold with one hand and his own sword in the next. Antoinette rolled her eyes as she huddled along with them at their backs. Jussac in front of her glared. She smirked as a little foam risen to his mouth.

_What rapid behavior, Jussac._

Rochefort narrowed his eyes. No fear. Just annoyance. "Finish them off," he said leaving with his set of guards. Jussac grinned maniacally. There was no specific order- just to make sure they were done with.

Athos said with finite, "Let's even the odds,"

All sprung back into action with the Musketeers slicing up the hoard of guards and Jussac.

Porthos was cornered into an open air storage stable with barrels of flour, cement pasting, and tools. With the new cane he independently bought he brandished the edges to block off attempts from the swords.

Lunging with two twin swords and the small dagger he had stolen from Antoinette, Aramis did not like to play along until the opponent dried and dropped. His cuts were vital and life-threatening. Quick and to the point.

Athos merely entertained himself with footwork, cutting one by one until they came back for more. His strategy and wounds were not the same on any man twice as he delivered the blows.

A smirking Antoinette twisted her sword on the first man in three sections in a criss cross pattern on the man's chest and abdomen. Their return blows were blocked with her sword.

A few tarry cuts to her on her shoulders were small and not worrisome. An oncoming guard wrapped an arm around her throat, lifting her backwards. Her sword engaged with the guard in front of her. Her leg kicked backwards clumsily. The unexpected hit to the guard behind her allowed room to bring the engaged sword closer to her neck, stabbing a gleaming cut on the man's wrist.

His yell rang in her ear. From heart beating adrenaline Antoinette gathered a second sword from her skirts to shove the man in retailiation on his back. The sword dropped when her frontward opponent slammed more energy to his blade across hers. She grunted in pain.

While she managed in endurance, she lacked in strength. The small blade behind her ear removed from it's lodging to dig into the unsuspecting man's throat. Thickets of blood oozed in the crevices. The sword, now disengaged sliced into the air and down the shoulder of an approaching man.

She pulled back her devices quickly allowing each man to fall into a pile. Her attention captured on five more men on approach. Dribbles of blood from her blades spotted onto the dirt covered skirts. She frowned in disappointment before shoving one of her swords into a man's chest, kicked a guard in the ankle, threw the small blade into his left shoulder, leaving a third and fourth man to brace as the two men prior fell on top of them.

Antoinette flipped a stray hair out of her way when gaining back her weapons. She stared curiosily at the fifth man, whose knees bucked. She raised an eyebrow awaiting his attack. Without a step forward he fell to his knees when thrown off balance from a blade to the jugular.

Aramis struggled thirty paces away from a brutal guard who refused to bow down. Another guard from afar chucked a dagger in Aramis' direction. On the sport Aramis turned on his heels sharply while clutching the brutal guard by his forearms. The dagger landed in the guard's chest. Aramis reached from besides his belt to the one he had stolen from Antoinette.

His aim matched the target's chest. With a flick of wrist and stillness of wind, the dagger died down in between the man's ribs. His head threw back on pain and flew backwards.

A hand flourished the blood-stained blade with a sickening crunch from the ribs. The blade's blood smudged onto the dead man's clothing. The cleaned off dagger parted its way from the old blood but immediately sunk into new blood. Antoinette caught a sneak attack behind Aramis and closed on in the kill.

The guard felt radiant pain from his hip. His side gave way from off kilter and landed on the other hip. With both hips cracked, Aramis finished him off with little to no trouble.

His head tipped in appreciation to Antoinette. A brief smile curled from her lips before averted back to a hand on her shoulder. She groaned as she knocked his jaw out of the way by her elbow.

_When will they just GIVE up?_ She thought sealing another man's bloodied fate.

The ringleader of the troupe never liked to cut to the chase. He liked to trick his opponents in the upper hand before executing them. Think of it as a plan in action. Every move had rhythm and parted the way from guard to guard until one by one they fell on their own accord. It was by Athos' hand who delivered the last blow to the ground. Athos parted the crowd with forward thrusts and slashes. Eyes never leave the opponent unless he spun around to jab them before headbutting them.

Porthos with a destroyed cut cane, improvised with buckets and longboards. The chopped cane defended him long enough to box his opponents' ears before thrusting wicked pieces of splintered wood into their guts. His gloved hands protected him as boxing became his new groove. One smash to the head and another upright to the jaw was long enough to cut them some more with the boards.

Aramis dueled by a tilted upright wagon band. Antoinette swung her sword across a guard's leg. Two more guards against her and Aramis and they were homebound. She snuck a hand to his throat. She was returned with a smashing hit to the right side. Extreme pain took her breath away. The tugging against her bodice tightened the laced corset even closer to her body.

She enveloped an arm around her side. The guard cut her across her cheek. An exasperated shout of surprise caught Aramis by surprise. His opponent moved in front and he crushed the wagon on top with his footing. Aramis forced his sword down to the toppled guard's leg, letting him live a while longer.

Her shortening breath gave her the impulse one last try. Her headswung back from the oncoming sword. When it flew forward after the sword retracted to try again, her bruised wrist flickered the sword across the way to his chest. two slices deafened the arena. Behind the man whose mouth gasped for air, Aramis stood with his sword in between the man's back flesh.

Antoinette nodded only. She let go of the hot metal. Aramis plunged the swords out, allowing the body to fall. Blood rusted deviously on the blades. She could not hear the groans of fallen men, the crowd moving in cheers, or the swords. She accepted the sword in his hand.

Aramis knelt to one knee eyes to her and then to the dead and wounded he and his comrades scathed. From his inside chest pockets he produced a Holy Cross. His hand gestured to the four directions of the cross for those he slain. She knelt besides him, rolling the man away from them as she desperately listened to the murmurs in Latin.

Across the courtyard she saw Constance interact with D'Artagnan. Her ears tuned out Aramis' prayers in the same manner he would to each foe. Her ganging distance was not far from them.

"What is your name?" D'Artagnan wondered elbowing a guard on the back.

Her eyes drifted back to the young man's outward appearance, studied his antics, before showering him with a small smile.

"Constance,"

"Constance," he repeated the name. D'Artagnan's mouth gaped open wanting to taste her name again. Antoinette smiled half heartedly at D'Artagnan's glowering eyes. It was the same look she was once given six years ago. She stood up with Aramis following.

"Sounds very steadfast,"

She smirked indifferently. "A quality you seem to know little about,"

Aramis stowed the cross away, grabbing Antoinette's dirtied arm. He gently pulled her along to his chest, hugging her. She breathed in the sweat and blood stained on his jacket. His hands curled around the freed tressels behind her neck. He stroked them as he beckoned her to Porthos and Athos.

"Back for more?" D'Artagnan jeered at Jussac. The men turned their heads for any sign of a ruckus. The crowds' calls heightened as Jussac, totally defeated, brought his knee forward to snap the metal sword as if it were a tree branch.

"Musketeers!" They cried. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis watched overheard at the people clapping and waving at them from their hawk view. "Musketeers! Musketeers!"

Porthos waved at them with good nature. His wave stirred them into more shouts and calls. The man besides Antoinette lifted his eyes to the sky in complete revelation. Antoinette fastened her blades away from the crowd's sight, clutching onto his jacket. Her eyes found way to Athos, who stood in the middle. His head spun round and round in fascination.

It'd been a while since any of them were needed.

"I'd forgotten what it feels like," he said.

Aramis chuckled to himself. "We all have," He nodded.

"The name is D'Artagnan," Her head swung back to the couple behind them. D'Artagnan had the sword in the ground, and his elbow rested upon it. Constance's hip caressed the basket. Her face showed a mixture of pity and unrested concern.

"You must come from a very small town,"

"How did you know?" D'Artagnan asked shockingly.

She gripped her basket closer in front of her. Her hair drew to the back. "Lines like yours might actually work there. This is Paris," she emphasized. "I suggest you stick to swordplay. In the battle of wits, you, sir, are unarmed," Her eyes locked at his appearance before turning her figure away. D'Artagnan heaved a sigh when she retreated back to her errands.

Aramis had caught Antoinette staring at a down-on-his-luck Artagnan and a fleeing Antoinette. "Just like us, love," He kissed her forhead.

She scoffed at his touch, despite her longing. "If I remember correctly you weren't put forth as he is. You kept your distance," She pointed a dangling finger in his arm.

Affectionately wounded, he gestured to himself. "A man does not need words to express his infatuation," His eyes fluttered mocking her batted eyes. Her chuckles emitted from her throat, patting his face.

Porthos gleamed at the lad, interrupting Aramis from pursuing Antoinette. He tugged her arm rowdly. Aramis grunted disappointedly.

"I think the lad has potential," he decided. "Terrible delivery, but potential. I think he can be tucked under my wing," His presence went as he came, swiftly.

Antoinette's eyes widened while Aramis looked on. "What did I tell you? Mini Porthos!" She waved a hand in his face.

"I know," he taunted. A hand swooped by the divet in her lower back, just barely brushing over the higher bruises. He pulled her closer to him, drawing his breath to warm her blushing face. her fingers floated through his slicked back hair, teasingly pleasing him.

He kissed the tip of her nose before encasing his mouth over hers. Her hip bone met his with delightful could feel from her mouth the vibrating moans waiting to be released in the tones of his throat. Antoinette pulled back with red lips to read his blackened eyes. Filled with love and lust for her, his hands made a grab to capture her again.

She about let him, but slipped from his grip. She giggled at Aramis' frustration. Her laughter stopped, watching Aramis step forward to catch her. She spun around in excitement and was not a foot away when he hoisted her around the waist back to him.

She let a cry of joy out as she turned her head to lean in a kiss. He greeted her in the middle, tongue pulsating against hers.

"Antoinette!" She withdrew from his intoxicating lips. She leaned back into him as a flurry of teal skirts moved in their direction. He moved her hips side to side allowing the guest to distract her divided attention to his dismay.

Her elation lowered in the presence of her friend. "Constance, lovely to see you out and about," She hid her excitement and tried to position herself out of Aramis' grip.

His fingers latched onto her hip bones. Like a child, he refused to give up what he wanted. She allowed his tomfoollery for the time being. She mentally reminded herself to give him an earful of common courtesy.

Constance blushed at their intimate moment. Her face could have passed as a virgin rose before springtime. "I'm sure you're more than happy than I am here," she giggled.

"Yes, well," Antoinette nodded towards Aramis. She pushed his chest back a bit to be more comfortable. Young Constance dug through her basket, pointedly avoiding Antoinette and her lover who persistedly nibbled at her ear.

"Before I take off," she said handing an enclosed letter. "The Queen asked me to give you this letter, should I find you in my travels,"

She inspected the royal red wax seal. From the desk of the Queen. Must have been as urgent as the red letterings popped out. "Oh, thank you Constatine," She refrenced her given name.

Constance ruffled at her full name. Her firm grip on the basket turn stark white. Though not used to have many trusted companions, Constance rarely allowed anyone of her rank to share her name.

"Constance," She sighed at her incessant jousting.

"Only teasing, Constance," Antoinette patted her hand on Constance before swatting Aramis' stomach. A good groan erupted from him as she put forth a smile. "Good day," she departed with Aramis.

"Anon," Constance waved.

As she turned a corner, the smile was not present on Antoinette's scornful face. Aramis grinned cheesily.

"The nerve," muttered Antoinette distancing herself from him.

He let her run out fumes. _An angry Antoinette is the match of the Devil._ Aramis eerily wondered. Antoinette gave Aramis one last glare before rejoining with Porthos teaching the ways of women to D'Artagnan.

"The ladies of Paris are infinitely more complicated," he started. Porthos gestured an hour glass figure to represent the shapes of women. "They have 1,000 ways of saying, 'No,' and only some of them mean, 'Yes,'," He fixed the straps to his gloves.

Antoinette approached D'Artagnan, inspecting the sword he unground. She held it with two balanced fingers before swishing it into the air in position. Satisfied with the quality she threw it back to D'Artagnan.

"Though most of the time the man who heard her say, 'No,' believes it means, 'Yes,' when it actuality she meant, 'No,' from the beginning," she explained tucking her hand underneath the young man's arm.

Confused, D'Artagnan looked for guidance from Porthos and specifically to Aramis. "How do you keep up?"

Porthos snickered. "Usually go along to what she says," Aramis shrugged. "To defy a woman is like denying the sun won't rise again. Impossible," he said to butter up Antoinette in a better emotion. She rolled her eyes as she let go of D'Artagnan.

"Don't you forget it," she said pointedly.

He chuckled before stopping abruptly. "I hate to ruin the mood, but they will be back," he reminded.

Athos popped in from the sidelines to start his trek home. "And unless you wish to fight an entire army," he added sarcastically.

Aramis held a hand to lead. Antoinette followed with Porthos and D'Artagnan at heel. The sun was well past noon. The afternoon air was thick and hot. These conditionings did not bode well for Antoinette's stiff back. The sooner home, the sooner she could change into decent, clean clothes.

Her hand involuntarily touched the side of her back with unease. Aramis raised an eyebrow. She offered a quick smile with her hands folded together.

"Elsewhere!" Porthos announced his travelings.

_Elsewhere to a bath and warm bed would do well._She thought. Her lazy eyes gleamed at another thought: the first night in a long while she wouldn't be alone.

**Glad that's over. Don't you think it's completely pointless in the movie for Jussac to bend his sword and snap it? I mean you just broke your own sword, how are you going to defend yourself? Not that he couldn't in the first place but... Metal was also precious and at times hard to obtain so- that's another reason not to snap it like a twig.**

**Also pointless for Rochefort to enter, glare at all of them, watch them succeed and then half way through leaves off. I get that it's setting the plot but he should have exchanged words with them. Personal opinion. :P**

**Off to write some more! Don't forget to review! :) Suggestions for other stories are open.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: A Woman's Place

**It's a joy to write this piece. You'll see a softer side to the playful Comtesse, which will set up the rest of the plot. Fitting Antoinette into the storyline wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. The script is easy and flexible to add another person without drifting from the main purpose, which is to exploit the Cardinal's plans to the audience and for the Musketeers to adventure here and there to stop him.**

**Thank you already to the views and readers who have enjoyed the segments and/or favorited the story. Support is welcomed and it certainly strives me to push through page after page. :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not have the privilige to own the rights to the actors, script, or any franchise of the Three Musketeers. All rights are to creators of movie but most importantly to the delightful Alexandre Dumas, who has the best name to say with a French accent. :)**

* * *

Noon had high time past over Cooper's Yard. Chasing sunbeams narrowed down alleys and over cartmen's cargo. They shone over the river with murky shallows. Sunlight scattered over broken tiles on a roof and down the shutes of chimneys. Smoke raised the sun back up from it's despairing fumes. Gold touches on plain jewelry saddened old wives with nothing to look forward to. Wayward children ignored the shiny bits and pranced along the streets looking for game.

A lone afternoon beam slanted shadows by the Musketeer's apartment, awaiting for them and the stranger with a horse held in reins come from below the underbelly of a bridge. D'Artagnan held on his head a hat. A poor man's attempt to sustain rich status with a withering chicken's dyed feather.

Antoinette braced an arm by her side, rather than clutched to Aramis' elbow. Her side twitched in pain every so often, which concerned her. Her wounds should not have been that deep to cause her ribs to ache.

Antoinette's troubles packed in the back of her brain. Small sunlight grew a warm path on her belly, where some of the pain ended. It soothed her as the warmth contracted the muscles' spasms.

"So, now what?" D'Artagnan sounded confused. His hand held the horse, Buttercup, as a steering rod. Cooper's Yard was the first action he lived for and was unsure if he wanted to pick another fight from his leftover adrenaline, or dilute it down with some good wine. "Do we pick up where we left off?"

Athos tasted bitter sunlight on his lower lip. It would have been never too early for a drink at the tavern across the way. However two run ins with two enemies left his stomach too full but his mind running on empty. He'd probably grab another drink at home anyway, leaving the ale to muddle his mind.

"I think there's enough fighting for one day," he said hand on his belt.

Porthos waved his hand, finger rings glittering in the sun. "Besides, any man who's an enemy of Rochefort is a friend of mine," He clapped the youth on the back.

"Who's Rochefort?"

Out of the shadows and into the sunlight, Aramis readjusted the hat in the oncoming wind. He turned reluctantly to the whelp, whose curiosity would send him to the bounty office for too many questions. The people of Paris were simple; they never liked unwelcomed visitors asking around the hot spots to go for a drink or a brawl or a woman. Too much attention would leave dissatisfied customers.

Lucky for Aramis, he no longer craved such curiosity. But that did not mean he would teach others to stop their curiosity. Then there would be questions with too complicated explanations. "Captain of the Cardinal's guards. The right hand of the most powerful man in France,"

Antoinette added, "Not to mention the most feared swordsman in all of Europe,"

He scoffed lightly. One day, and the boy had made plenty people mad. "You certainly know how to pick your fights," Aramis said unbelieving.

D'Artagnan shrugged. He had no business in Paris anymore than a regular chap on the streets. "Like I said, he insulted my horse,"

Porthos set a list of reasons why the boy with no more agenda could become an easy target. "You're reckless, arrogant, impetuous, probably be dead by sundown, but I like you, lad. Where are you staying?"

"No idea,"

Antoinette and Aramis cocked an eyebrow at Porthos. Athos looked dead ahead speeding up his footsteps. It wasn't that the boy was not welcomed. It was the value of his integrity and the reality of his money. Antoinette learned the hard way that board was not cheap and she was more than willing to chip in a few places when the men were running low on booze or rent.

"Ah! Do you have any money?" Porthos asked three paces away from the beginning of the home. D'Artagnan stopped his horse to grab a small leatherskin pouch. It jangled hard against his hand when thrown in the air. Porthos grinned gesturing to the home in front.

"Well, good sir, you and your fine steed are welcome in our humble home," he said over dramatically at the non-unique home.

Athos cut in. "For the time being," He was followed by Porthos, ungloving his hands to slap them down on the furniture. Aramis held the hat by the brim and quirked a disgusted look on his face at Buttercup.

"That goes in there," he said pointing to the cruddy stable left of the house. Aramis rushed in with Antoinette inside the house as D'Artagnan sighed, stalling his horse.

Antoinette gave up her weapons on the table except for the ones in her hair as she hastened up the stairs from Aramis' grip. Each and every step she cringed noticeably.

Noticing a slam on their door, Aramis sped in the other direction. Antoinette liked her peace and alone time. Not even he could forebode his body past her comfortable space. The general rule around her was somewhere not too early, it could be overbearing. And as well not too late, feeling as though she wasn't cared for or loved to be forgotten quickly. Aramis narrowed it down to ten minutes at the minimum.

So, he polished the weapons used today. He scraped off any red and smoothed out would-be dents. The cloth dug into the crevices of the hilt. Each shine gleamed and sparkled with some sunlight drifting in. After storing them in the back for later inspection and distribution to the rightful owners, Aramis quickened his way to their room.

Hands on the doorway, he saw three things that caught his eye. One, his darling lover with the shawls and top layer of skirts off. His eyes galzed over as her side and part of her back faced him.

Two, there was a letter with a tear in it for rushing to open it. It's contents faced the reader. Antoinette gazed intently at it as if it were life or death. Aramis clutched the door handle to swing the door behind him closed for privacy.

The third and most disturbing thing he had noticed on arrival were the engravings on her back. Angry red lines underneath and heaved over on top of her whalebone corset Her hands fiddled with the lacings that wouldn't seem to undo. Her chest throbbed as she struggled to breath correctly.

She tried to readjust the corset further down but was met with a thing line of red and some dark bruises in nonuniform shapes.

"Ah, that's going to bruise," she muttered tugging the thing again in frustration.

Aramis, with sickening eyes, shook at an alarming rate. His head swum with manu conclusions. Someone manhandled her, some guard tripped her or bruised her body at the yard. Or perhaps it was a combination from the lack of space in between her flesh and corset and the trials in St. Germain.

"What on earth did you do, Antoinette?" He raised his tones.

Her eyes saddened while her lip trembled for a smile. Her braveness was worn thin, unlike her corset. "Forgot I was wearing my corset. They aren't meant for swordsmanship. Oww," She pressed lightly at her hip and side. She rubbed deeply and then let go over and over as if it would increase circulation. "Can you unlace the rest of it?"

Aramis walked silently over and guided his shaking hands not to rib the bloody nuisance off of her for further detailing left behind. "Not like I haven't done it before," he said expertily unbinding each ringlet looser until finally he managed to peel the dread thing away from her back skin. "My God, woman there are marks all over your ribs!" His hands curled around the fabric.

"Court rules," she muttered darkly.

Bruises around her spine stood out the most. Aramis had to let go of her several times, feeling anger surge through his veins. Antoinette had never been one with rules. She broke them. In the odd coincidence, the rules broke _her_. "Sit down and slip into something more comfortable. Planchet will send for hot water and a salve," he said his matching anger coursed around in circles to his throat.

He made fists with his hands, perturding veins popped out of his neck. "Those are blistering wounds!" he raised his voice, storming out of the room.

Antoinette brushed the tips of her fingers across the sore skin. She winced. The mere touch brought clenching memories of Millie forcing the thing situated into the foldings of her skin. Her stomach heaved with more air pumping through.

She felt light headed and tried to calm the hysterics waiting to open up. Never in her life had she thought something excruciating as bruised skin would put a damper on her strength. She was better than this. Yet, proved how vulnerable and human she was.

Antoinette had many split traits she showed on occasion. She was Comtesse de Chevreuse, the cold hearted noble with a stiff upper lip. She was Lady Antoinette to those she kept close as an advantage or spy on her enemies. She was Antoinette, the lovable kitten of the Musketeer group. She was Netta, the sensitive and sensual lover of Aramis.

But underneath the foldings of each personality, hid a very peculiar creature. It scared Antoinette there was a small part of her that cried. Or bled. Or showed emotional attachment. Without permission. The most terrifying part? That side of Antoinette came as quickly as it went. Unknowing.

"They've scabbed over in some places," Aramis said leaning on the doorframe with an arm supporting his waist. There, Antoinette was slightly hunched, half decently presentable with droplets of tears in her eyes. For once, she did felt ashamed to be half dressed in front of him. He wasn't meant to see this part of her- ever. His calculating eyes wandered over her figure, not of lust, but of concern. In his one hand he held a small basin filled with steaming water, with a towel drapped over the wrist.

The basin sat to the side of her. She glanced at her reflection. The horrid image of smudged black underneath her lids and the flush of cheeks startled her. Aramis did his dutiful purpose of gently prodding away some dry blood in certain spots, careful to work around the edges of the darker circles.

His sigh rolled off his bottom lip as he dunked the washcloth into the water. The gurgle of water and the flicker of candlelight were the only sounds Antoinette dared to hear as he washed her back. Her finger twirled the length of her brunette curls to the side. His breathings were shallow or rapid. She couldn't tell what he was thinking or his internal reactions. Antoinette knew them to be bad; but to what extent?

"Why do you torture yourself to please the Cardinal. Don't deny it," He hastened at the end sternly. Antoinette played her hands over her hair. With preoccupied thoughts she wished she did not have to have this conversation. It would have been better to won the battle and celebrate properly just the two of them.

However he would have seen the scars even through their lovemaking.

Her voice slowed to a mousy whisper. :I was hoping everyday over the past year if I remained out of sight, out of mind..." She paused as the washcloth became to hot for her lower back. He apologized quickly, ringing out the cloth over the basin.

"It wasn't easy being alone with only few trusts in people. They all expect the worst of me... of my mother," She thought over to her stays. Every day, when the Queen did not require her attendance, she would walk with Constance to the terrace, sip tea with the ladies, and walked out of the arena knowing the ladies didn't speak to her because of her mother's notorious reputation.

Was it her fault she was her mother's child? Did the ladies ever talk to her outside the Queen's schedule? As much as the women feed off of gossip, their two-faced hypocrisy did not stand up for courage. If it were between life and threat of death, each lady would spill their secrets from the grave.

Aramis scoffed at Antoinette's sudden display of indifference. "Your mother and you are two completely seperate people," he said wiping with a dry cloth the wet trails. "She never had the chance to live out her dreams. You did. And does that merit gossip or traitor marks?"

Aramis watched as Antoinette shakily stood from the bed to slip off the skirts hestiantly. He turned his eyes away from her figure wanting to give her the benefit of privacy. He attended to dumping the bowl out the window and lying the wet washcloth on the windowsill. Antoinette carefully allowed her back to bend over to slip on one of Aramis' shirts with loose trousers she had once tailored. It was better for her aching back to not lift a metal cage of skirts or the constricted feeling of a bodice for the night. The black material across her chest was flimsy but concealed enough to walk around the house. She tightened the drawstrings around her collar bone to keep the shoulders somewhat in place.

Her bare feet replaced the cold wood with leather woven boots. Aside from the flowing shirt that flattered no part of her figure, she felt comfortable in her skin. She sat besides Aramis across the backboard with a propped pillow. Aramis consciously pulled her around the waist to lay on his chest. A hand disappeared in between strands of her hair.

Silence was golden. Words were not always needed between them. She knew what she wanted and he provided what he could give. In reverse, she knew what Aramis desired to know and she provided the answers.

"I was so afraid for a moment that once you were sent off, I would be faced with the rest of the people's hardships against me for lack of blaming my mother in the past," Her voice crackled.

His eyes did not remove its' hold to the letter lying down on the bed in front of them. "How does that explain why you become like them?"

She sniffled her nose. "I wanted to be invisible to them,"

"Antoinette," he warned. He could not lecture her. Not in her pain. Certainly not the first night of their reunion. Aramis would allow her to sort out her boundaries another day. He was thankful to God she was delivered back to him. No matter how much the palace changed her; on the inside she was the same sword-loving Antoinette he adored.

However, that did not entitle to give her boundaries total coverage.

"What did the letter say?"

Her eyes glowed to him. "A warning,"

"From the Queen," he assumed much. "About?" he pried.

Antoinette allowed her hands to cuddle up next to her head, smoothing out stray hairs. She bit her lips involuntarily. A sign she did not like what she knew. "Cardinal noticed my disappearance. Which is why Jussac assaulted us in the first place," She answered slowly to lower the blow.

Her hands scratched at her scalp in vain. It was Jussac that was searching for her. Not to racket the Musketeers. She put those she loved in danger of the Cardinal's disdain. She dreaded the consequences. The Queen advised her to allow one more day in the palace. At least, until the storm calmed the waters.

No sense in rocking the boat more. Especially with the gratitude of the Queen. "I am so sorry," she whispered frightened.

Aramis did not sigh or hold any breath for a moment. Her panic in the chest tightened. She had took a big risk to escape the palace. An even bigger risk to join the fight. And the biggest risk was yet to come, depending on his reaction. The hand that was petting her hair still continued. The soothing affect took as a good sign. However she knew from experience to expect the unexpected with Aramis.

He closed his eyes. "You had good intentions," he started. "Cardinal couldn't see past the lines of a map," Antoinette thought the good must come with the bad. Aramis turned his body towards her. "However, we must be more cautious than ever before. We all defied him once. With a legitimate claim, the King could become involved to puppet the Cardinal. He could destroy us... you,"

"I've faced worst," Antoinette said. His glazed eyes motioned to the letter. She lifted the tip of her head just underneath Aramis' chin. She nuzzled into his neck, breathing at long last his scent. A bottle of Chardonnay and church candles. The two aromas enarmored her senses. "Remember the Biscay rescue?" she mumbled. One kiss softened an unsettling vein in his neck.

He nodded. "You were sea sick on rough waters. I do recall the enemy knocking you out for several minutes. The storm racked on and you fell down the top deck stairs. 5 cracked ribs, punctured solar pelxus, bruise on scalp and torn shoulder," he analyzed. In his analysis, Antoinette shrugged off shivers. She could still feel the haunting chill of the ocean spray at her arms. Rough waters they were.

"A night I wish to forget but must remember," she cringed.

He finished, "And when we remember, we must immediately forget,"

Antoinette cracked a smile, further digging her lips into the divet between his neck and shoulder bone. He sent a kiss to her forehead, watching over her softer side.

She inhaled once more before ripping herself from him to stand up. She stretched her legs; the only parts of her body that didn't seem to twitch in pain. Aramis rolled over to his side as he held a hand out to bring her back to the sheets.

She waved her curls to her back, swishing delightfully. "I think I'm well enough to share a drink and meal with all of you," she decided enough was enough. She was not going to settle her first night at the house walled up with Aramis as a cushion- much to her dismay.

"You sure?" he said lifting himself up. He wrapped an arm around her lower waist to draw her in. "The men would excuse your absence in the condition-"

She laughed to herself. Antoinette held a finger to silence his words. "I'm fine. Perhaps a block of cheese and bread will fill me up,"

* * *

A low fire emitted from the brash room. Sparks crackled to ashes like little burning stars, until they disappeared to a smoldering black dot. The fire kept the food on the table warm, but not warm enough to make the wine jug condense. Porthos giddily drank from his chalice without a care in the world. Besides him was the studious Aramis reading a pocket text with his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He latched a hand woven in Antoinette's under the table. Expertly she used her left hand to fork some tearing meat from her plate.

D'Artagnan welcomed himself to put his feet on the table, which he immediately retreated under the careful glare of Antoinette. All was silent around the table. From the corner where the post woods from the ceiling met the ground sat Athos, head held back with a cup to his mouth.

Athos did not like to meddle himself with his companion's idle chatter. He was a man of many things but few words. He rivaled Aramis with his silent, chaffed tongue nowadays. The cup he bore was filled to the half way mark. Bubbled thoughts surface above the drunken liquor much to his distaste. Averted eyes away, he studied a mumbling Porthos from the table.

"What shall we drink to?" He set his cup on the table with a thud. He looked to and fro for suggestions. To his surprise, D'Artagnan spoke with haste.

"How about the King?"

Athos cracked a knuckle across the rim of the cup. Antoinette scratched the palm of her hands nervously. Porthos grabbed the cup back to his mouth. Aramis diverged his scorned mind to the reading of the texts, reading them over and over again.

"He's child," Athos said disdainfully. "Cardinal rules in all but name, might as well drink to him,"

D'Artagnan held his cup a little higher. "To France,"

He interrupted, "We served it, fought for it, and bled for it. Look where it got us,"

D'Artagnan, slightly defeated looked in front to the other three busying theirselves for no apparent reason. "Friendship? Love?" He gazed at the couple. Antoinette blushed for embarrassment. Not because of relationship, but the lack of one that cost the group their livelihoods.

A big exasperation after a swig of the last amber liquid exhaled from Athos. "Word of advice, boy. Trust no one," Lifeless eyes narrowed at the boy's.

D'Artagnan leaned forth. "Must be something you still believe in," he said pointedly.

"This," He flicked a gold coin into the air. "This," He produced a dagger to flip up as well. With precision the dagger hit the coin and stuck itself to the ceiling above them. Athos lastly gestured to his cup, bearing little droplets of alcohol. "And this. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either a fool or trying to sell you something," He grimly stood up, slapped the cup to the table in front of D'Artagnan, and moodily shifted upstairs to his lair.

Shocked and a little underestimated, D'Artagnan stared at the cup and then to his partners who neither questioned nor intervened in his mood.

Aramis flipped through another page, keen on attending only to the words and Antoinette's soothing hand. "I know Athos may seem cold and unfriendly, but don't let it fool you. Deep down-"

Porthos intervened, "He really is cold and unfriendly,"

The remaining three shared a knowing look. Porthos laughed quietly to himself as he watched Antoinette rested her tired head on Aramis' broad shoulder. Over his shoulder she read some of the words. A priest's hymn and poem book.

"What happened to him?"

Her head returned to its normal socket as Aramis rubbed a calloused thumb over her gentle hand.

"What happens to any man," Aramis said softly. "A woman," She did not need to turn her head to know Aramis had eyes on her only. She squeezed his hand for comfort. Aramis closed the book seeing no point in reading with the young man's curiosity hopping like a jittery rabbit.

"You know," said D'Artagnan. "I don't want to offend anybody, but I thought you'd all be a little bit more... heroic,"

Jovially, Porthos roared with laughter shaking the threshold of the room. Antoinette grinned slyly.

"Is that what the youth calls us?" She giggled to Porthos whose eyes brimmed with laughing tears.

Aramis dropped his glasses to the table in amusement when the laughter quieted. "What my esteemed colleague was trying to say, in his own way, is that we are obsolete," he told. "We're warriors, but there's no war for us to fight. And so we drink and brawl and quarrel with the Cardinal's guards and then we drink some more," Antoinette sobered, briefly letting go of his hand. The atmosphere was no longer rowdy. Porthos returned his attention to a piece of broken off bread. The crumbs drifted off the table and to his feet. She had imagined those crumbs were separated from the bigger part of the bread- the purpose. A loaf of bread was to feed and warm the bellies of the people. In the same analogy, the Musketeers were meant to provide that warmth as a blanket of protection against the enemies of the people in France.

Those crumbs had nothing to do but dust the floor and eventually disintegrate into nothing.

"What we need is a great cause," Aramis nodded definitely.

Antoinette watched the hushed fire. "One that lies beyond the streets of Paris,"

Aramis took her hand in both of his. His protective streak wasn't overbearing as she had thought it had been. Antoinette didn't need protection; she needed to protect her loved ones from wasting away until they're unrecognizable as Athos. "But there are no great causes left,"

Porthos cleared his airway. "Which is why I keep telling you it's not too late to do that priest thing again. Beats working for the city," he grumbled. "Free booze at wakes and weddings. And then there's the nuns,"

She left fear in Porthos' eyes. He winced involuntarily at her wrath. "Oh, well maybe not so much," he mumbled into the cheese.

D'Artagnan looked incredulous to the silent man who patted her hand. Antoinette's eyes pouted at her own jealousy. "You were a priest," he asked.

Aramis tucked his legs out of his chair to walk to the fireplace. "Until I realized being a man of God and man of cloth aren't always the same thing," D'Artagnan saw a glint of praise between Aramis and Antoinette. He held nothing but adoration for her. Something men of D'Artagnan's age knew barely anything of.

"And yet, he still says prayers for those he kills. Old habit," he explained.

"On the contrary," Aramis said resting an elbow on the wall. "The men I kill deserve to die. But they also deserve peace. After all, they must have believed in something. We all do. Even the worst of us," His eyes lost theirselves into the dying fire.

Antoinette stood up to lean her figure delicately on the table. She crossed her arms, haunted by the memory pictures of the people they all had killed. The moment ruined when Porthos broke for the wine jug.

"I'll drink to that," But when he drained for more wine, there was not a drop left of it. In irritation he called, "Planchet! More wine! Planchet!"

Planchet scuttled from behind the door, crossed to Antoinette, bringing her a bottled salve. She grasped the neck of it as Planchet brought in more wood for the fire. "Sorry, sirs. I'm afraid there's none left. You've drunk the lot," He circled with his fingers gesturing to the table.

In disbelief, the men and woman looked at Planchet dreading the answer. "What sort of answer's that? Well, go get some more, man!" Porthos ordered.

Planchet laughed sketchedly to his masters. He stuttered, "Very good, s-sir. It's just, I can't, sir. We- We've run out of money," His eyes squinted when Porthos' jaw clenched. Aramis rested his forehead against his forearm, sighing.

Porthos asked, "Planchet, what are you?"

The serf rolled his eyes, counting off the insults he was accustomed to. "Complete and utter waste of space, sir?" Antoinette scoffed mentally at their behaviors.

"And?"

"As much use as a fart in a bottle, sir?"

"Right,"

"In short, sir, a total tit, sir. But I can't work bleeding miracles!" he begged. Porthos looked ready for murder. That was until D'Artagnan saw the good in the man. He readied a coin in his hand.

"Planchet?" The coin dropped in his hand.

"Oh!" A girlish surprise erupted. Antoinette muffled her laughs as he jokingly bit the coin for authenticity. "Thank you very much, sir! That's incredibly generous from such a handsome, young man. Thank you very, very much," He complimented in good will. "Will you be staying here tonight?" Desperation written over his face for a kinder master.

Aramis nodded. "He'll be taking your bed, Planchet," A quick delivery of a smile and an astonished face overwhelmed Planchet.

"Right, and so I'll be sleeping..." he drawled.

"You may take the balcony," Aramis decided.

Planchet sighed with big eyes. "Outside? The balcony outside in the cold? With birds shitting on my head all night?" He turned to Antoinette. "Kind lady, you would allow them to discharge my bed for service to a guest, which I'm more than happy to give; but, at the cost of my fortitude to sleeping outside?"

She shrugged unsure what to say. Planchet deadpanned at the lack of generousity. "Great, can I just say-"

Porthos stamped his cup to the table chanting with a gathering chorus from the others, "Wine! Wine! Wine! Wine! Wine! Wine!"

Planchet faked a smile as he cheerfully, more or less, ran off to the door. "Yes! Of course! Wine it is, sirs," Off the boisterous man went to collect more wine for his drunken masters with disheartened feelings. He cursed their names under his breath walking down the alleys thinking of all the ways he could up and tell them off... Of course that was only in his dreams.

* * *

Night surpassed Antoinette dreamily. She had brought herself to awaken just before the rays of dawn yawned. Her head snuggled close to Aramis' sleeping face. Never had she thought it was all real until she rolled to her back. The dull aches of pain returned to the night before.

She remembered Aramis helping to rub in the salve into her bruises. The drifting memories of him kissing each and every sore drew a lazy smile upon her face. Like an alleycat she stretched her arms and legs before rising out of bed. She draped a fur coat over her being to collect discarded clothes she threw here and there when unpacking.

By herself, she managed to up do her brushed out hair into a bun, wearing pearl earrings and a netting of pearls placed in between the curls of her hair. Yards of emerald green fabric with tanned brown straps outlined her figure. Hugging close to her curves but not enough to hurt her; she skipped the corset and settled from a buckle around her the edges of the bodice.

A shift of sheets and a low rumbling chest echoed. "Netta?" Aramis said sleepily. His muscles tightened before laxing as he positioned himself half sitting up. "Why are you up before the sun?" he whispered hoarsely.

She sat on her side leaning in. "I must go. If I can sneak in with the food parcels in the back, I could serve the Queen her breakfast and in sight of the Cardinal,"

He flipped the down comforter off revealing his bare chest and covered night trousers he wore. Sinewy skin prickled with the lack of warmth. He shivered it off as he scooted closer to Antoinette. Gently minding her wounds, he picked her up into his lap and caressed her covered thighs in deep aching circles.

"You're leaving," He peppered kisses across her shoulder and bare collarbone.

"Only for a short while," she whispered to him enjoying the affects her body rolled in. "Just until the Queen can reassure a stronger aversion,"

He growled. "That day will come when Richelieu falls dead,"

Antoinette grinned capturing his lips with vicious lust. "For a patient man, you seem to be out of touch with yourself,"

"One day over one year isn't enough," He said dipped her back to the bed, ruffling her dress. He wrapped around her waist impatiently only to hear a pain-stricken groan. "Your bruises?" he asked.

She kissed him longingly, not wanting him to ever stop. "Thanks to your gentle touch, nearly healed," She awaited more for his touch when he backed out to inspect her.

"You're not wearing one, are you?" His questione was answered to the discared corset across the table she did not bother with.

She denied. "Not until I'm safely in," Her hand rubbed against Aramis' face. He would need a shave soon and a trim. She kissed his cheeks. "Constance goes to the markets once in a while on leave. She can be our correspondent in the meantime,"

He hugged her body closer to him. A slow breath dispersed at the back of her neck. "You know our rally points," he lowered.

"I ache with guilt knowing I am leaving you once more. This wasn't how things were suppose to be," she said separating from him. The touch he held for her burned like a red hot anvil. Without him near, she felt the cold breeze in the court gardens, chilling her.

"I would trade my soul to have a day with you," He grasped her hands to his lips. "This time without the sword fights," Aramis motioned to the twin swords on a cloth.

She hummed to herself. "I love you," She sealed with a kiss.

"Not as much as I do,"

Antoinette gathered herself off the bed they shared. She pushed his chest down to the sheets. Antoinette tucked him in and closed the window seeping light through. "Get some rest," She said in her motherly tone. "I'm sure Jussac has told the Cardinal about the incident in the square," A pull from her shoulders and out popped a hood to conceal herself from the sunlight.

Aramis' eyes darkened as he stretched a hand behind his head. "I eagerly wait to have my revenge on the both of them," he vowed.

Her curls bounced as she bowed down to kiss him once more. "Shhh... One day," she whispered nudging his face.

He grabbed her hand suddenly. Grinning he replied, "Can't come any sooner,"

Antoinette nodded. She packed a small bag with her belongings, put on kidskin gloves before leaving. A short glance at Aramis made her heart jumpstart. She had waited one year to look forward to spend her time with him. Her inner soul cried as she left not wanting to let him see her weakness through tears.

As she walked out of the house, and further away from her Aramis, she made a pact to allow their second separation be as lengthy as the first. She would steel her emotions as much as possible and return as the old Antoinette. Not even the Cardinal would dare worry her mind.

_The Cardinal has made his points clear enough. _She thought bitterly. _He made his bed, now he can lie in it for all his deception past, present, and hoped to be none in our futures._

The dawn rose vivaciously over the sleepy town of Paris. Dark clouds loomed over the palace but were quickly lighted by sunbeams from the east.

* * *

**So nice of a woman to leave the man in the morning versus vice versa. Thumbs up to independent women! haha**

**Has anyone noticed when watching the film, Cardinal Richelieu changes his accent every time he speaks? It bothers me that he can't stick to one. :P And so does Jussac? I swear Jussac has a Western dialect in certain parts. My friend and I imitated him once and fell over laughing when replaying the scenes.**

**So, to pose a question to the audience, which is your favorite Musketeer? And why? I think it's clear who my favorite is ;)**

**As to why? Aramis is the most conscious in the movie. He had a clear line of vision and even though he would have made an excellent leader of the pack, it wouldn't be the shame. He is a leader in his own way with his mind determined to finish the task at hand. Not all shepherds lead the sheep through voice. :)**

**Review!**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Once Promising

**Me: Oh yay! Another fun filled chapter!**

**Porthos: With me!**

**Me: Partially.**

**Porthos: Aww... will I be featured in the next one?**

**Me: Dude, you're in the ENTIRE movie.**

**Porthos: Oh... right!**

**Athos: Can we get on with it?**

**Me: Hmm, cranky inside and outside of the movie. Who would have thought?**

**Aramis: I did.**

**Fangirls: EEEEEPP!**

**-Aramis vanishes-**

**Fangirls: Awww...**

**Me: -throws D'Artagnan in-**

**Fangirls: EEEEEPP! -tackles D'Artagnan-**

**Me: Hehehehehe, I'm evil! Onto the disclaimer!**

**Porthos: Ooooh! I'll do it! Radiolover1029 does not own any of the Three Musketeers, or D'Artagnan or Milady or Cardinal or-**

**Athos: They get it! Just read on!**

**Me: Shall I throw you in next?**

**Athos: -gulp- No, I'm fine.**

**Me: Thought so.**

* * *

Antoinette hurried with a purpose. The traveling case occupied in one hand with a flurry of skirts in the other, her pace wasn't as rushed she desired. The weight of the case slowed her down. A sheet of sweat started to form around her hairline down to her forehead. It was a miracle that she passed by security inspecting the food delivery carts through the back kitchen doors. Another miracle to have barely met any soldiers or guards wandering about. Though she assumed guards weren't meant to be posted in the servants quarters.

Passing a marbled post, she caught her breath behind it, looking over her shoulder casually for any suspicious activity. Her breath hitched in her lungs as she spotted one lone guard patrolling perpendicular to the hallway she had to next pass. She counted the number of seconds the guard took within each turn and down each segment of the hallway. If she paced it right and walked silently, she could possibly make it through the hallway and then hurry to the next pillar by the time he made a quick check on the other halls.

Antoinette tucked an arm under the case and stood by the edge of the wall. She counted his way to the other side before stepping in the crossway. Without checking her surroundings, she rushed to the other side.

_Sanctuary_ she mentally huffed upon reaching her door.

Constance wore a mix of teal and aquamarine dress with lacing around neckline. Blonde hair splayed upwards with pale blue flowers woven around a red beaded band. She took her walk down the corridors at leisure pace. That was until an emerald green clad dressed figure bumped into her around a sharp corner.

"Whoa there!" she startled.

Antoinette, a little shooken up, grasped her heart heavily. "You gave me a fright, Constance. What news of the guards?" She caught her breath with the price of a side stitch.

Used to Antoinette's shanninagans, she reported, "Cardinal sent Jussac on raids to find you yesterday obviously. He's been searching the whole palace,"

Checked all the rooms, including the Constance's. As if she would stowaway Antoinette. Though her friend, Constance would not be the first hiding spot choice.

"And the Queen?"

Constance fixed the few strands astray on Antoinette. She re-curled them. "She excused you for a sudden illness and you needed your rest,"

Antoinette splashed a hand to her face, waffing the air around her. "Cardinal isn't gullible to believe that. But he wouldn't defy the Queen in public."

Constance stopped her hands. "There's one more thing," Her hesitation twirled Antoinette about.

"Yes?"

Constance shuffled a step forward then back, anxious to tell. But also in fear. Antoinette wasn't herself this morning, and who would know how she would react. "Earlier Jussac led some men to the towns to summon the Musketeers. They are to be punished by the King himself,"

Antoinette gapped her mouth open. Her back kissed the wall roughly. The top of her head bounced at the smooth texture. There was no way she did not think of the repercussions. From her own excitement and without the necessary execution of her actions, she might as well deliver the Musketeers to the guillotine.

Eyes closed, heart slowed for a moment. Constance watched as she deeply breathed in and out. Aramis. She needed to warn Aramis and the others. But how? Antoinette had not a friend nor acquaintance other than Constance and the...

A faint idea brimmed to her conscious. It was risky and to bring it up would be deterimental. She had helped so much. To ask for her counsel again?

No, she needed to. She puckered her lips in determination.

"We must hurry to the Queen now," she said grabbing the confused Constance down the halls, minding the empty wallways with not a guard in sight.

_Luck be with us now._ She prayed.

* * *

"Did you hear about the quarrel yesterday?" Lady Elisabeth asked.

Her companion, Lady Marabelle, gossiped, "Oh yes, in fact I heard the odds were horrendous! Such injuries bestowed on the 40 men present," Her gestures over told the story to the point of no return.

The old maiden, Duchessina Genevieve scolded, "No! I heard it was more than 40 from Lord Piper! Apparently a few rascals joined in the fight and plunged men to their deaths!"

"Perhaps it was 400 men then!" Lady Marabelle, a young fawn in a man's world, recollected.

From the sofa, Constance and Antoinette clinked their tea cups together in annoyance. Antoinette had to go from Aramis' side to the tedious life in court. Gossip about this, tattle to whom, and at the end of the day watch a lady verbally rip apart another's words.

She whispered to Constance, listening on it too, "It was 5 against 50 if you counted myself and Rochefort's guards. Where do they get this information?" she asked incredulous.

Constance replied to the slander, "From the mouths of tattle tales," Her voice was drowned by the peckering of ladies out speaking one another to claim the latest scoop. It was the breakfast tea time before luncheon. Antoinette had swore herself to stop her addiction to the Austrian flavors three months ago due to an empty shipment of it. Now it was back to boring, flavorless, black tea from the mountain ranges of northeastern France. Just past the border of Lorraine.

She said from the rim of the cup, "Should we set the record straight?"

Constance patted her lips with a napkin. "Let them blabber. The more outrageous, the more it'll attract the Queen's attention,"

If there was anything Antoinette could do in her power, it was start a rouse. Involving Queen Anne might save the men's skins from the dangers of Richelieu and his lackey Rochefort. At the moment, the Queen had took her time dressing herself instead of her many awaiting laides. If be, Antoinette could plant the seed in the Queen's mind when she arrives- though she might have to scratch pass the flock of gossiping goslings ready to chew her ear off.

"There she is," Constance said. Antoinette nodded. The Queen emerged from her private chambers. The ladies silenced theirselves to clean up the tea and set the curtains drawn.

"What have I heard?" the Queen demanded. Her corset was properly done up but she still wasn't decent enough to go out in public. "Men fighting in Paris with the Cardinal's guards? Lady Elisabeth?" she questioned.

Said lady, bit her lip. "Your Majesty, you heard correctly,"

She moved down the line to the stiff upper lift duchess. "When? Duchessina Genevieve?"

"Your Majesty," Her curtsy deepened. "Yesterday afternoon,"

She confirmed, "The men identified as the brave and bold King's guards? Musketeers. Comtesse Antoinette?" She glanced to Antoinette. Her mouth dryed. The Comtesse opened her mouth only to stop. To the front entrance she heard a struggling servant's stutters and a mewling growl. The irritated prepetraitor demanded the man to step aside. The occupants of the room hastened to listen.

"Open up, you fool! Your Majesty!" The twinge of breaking French met Antoinette's hears like cat screeches.

"Pass," she ordered, just as irritated as the man who entered through. A servant ushered out of the way as Jussac stomped through. He bowed his head.

"Forgive my intrusion, Your Majesty. I only wish to inform you of a warrant on one of your lady-in-waiting's heads. Her appearance hasn't been seen since only yesterday morning," he sped through his words with a gesture to the warrant another guard held upright.

The Queen dared the men to come forth. Ladies protected the Queen's side- a natural reaction to hearing demands from the guards. Antoinette huddled to Constance's side as sly as a cat.

"I believe the warrant you are looking for is here," She waved for Constance to move. Antoinette stepped into view. Jussac did not notice her until he was forced to.

"Your Maj- You," His eyes held murderous thoughts only Antoinette could tell of. His gloved left hand itched to touch the sword around his belt to slay her on spot.

Queen Anne commented, "Comtesse de Chevreuse has been ill with head trauma. I bade her leave from yesterday's excursions," She covered her tracks for Antoinette.

"Your Majesty, I-"

"Do you question your Queen's authority, Guard Jussac?" Her eyes alit like burning Austrian wine.

Jussac sighed defiantly. "No, must have been a phantom I had seen of her Ladyship's image on the streets of Paris," he said underneath the vice-like words.

The Queen joked, "I recommend seeing a physician," She looked to the oncoming guards. A look to begone. They scattered with Jussac. He bowed out like the rest of them before angrily throwing away the warrant in the Queen's trash can.

Constance nudged Antoinette in success. As victorious as she felt, the moment passed too soon. She had only realized there was much to be done if she were to remain at Aramis' side and the Musketeers safe and well once more.

The Queen smiled to the two of the three chattering ladies. "Baroness Marabelle and Duchessina Genevieve, would be so kind to fill the vases in my chambers with fresh flowers out on the terrace?" The curtsies were short as they gathered their supplies and out of the Queen's hall. Antoinette wanted to turn away with Constance, when Anne requested, "Your record, Antoinette?"

Antoinette replied, hands behind her back, "Your Majesty. The three Musketeers and an acquaintance battle forty of guards in Cooper's Yard off of St. Germain. So I am told," She averted her eyes.

Anne established understanding of the situation. Her eyes flickered to Constance who remained silent as the grave. "And you were there to witness this Lady Constance? 4 against 40?"

"Yes, Your Grace,"

"What of their reward?" Her questions, much easier to say than hear from another's mouth. Antoinette swallowed the lump in her throat.

"No reward, Your Majesty. Only the King's delivered punishment," The familiar tightening in her chest wasn't from the new corset Constance straightened on her figure.

"No merit? I suspect the Cardinal had a word with the King. Ladies, prepare yourselves. A walk is necessary I believe," The room moved like a ballet. With graceful motions but with every move was an emotion. Some of the serfs were whimsical to receive orders. Other ladies dreaded to stretch their limbs. For Antoinette, however, she wished to panic at will and rush downstairs without duties holding her back.

"Not you Comtesse Antoinette," The Queen held her wrist affectionately. She smiled eye to eye at the lady. She lowered her voice after pulling her aside from the beautiful chaos in her chambers. Something heavy and golden was handed to her. The Queen's bracelet. A symbol of devotion and protection. The Comtesse eyed her.

She explained attentively, "I want you to stroll ahead to the King and the Musketeers. Delay if needed. Take this. The guards won't give you any trouble,"

Her appreciation could not be put into lyrics of a poem or words or a story. Her expression was enough to satisfy the Queen. Helping hands with another eased her. Dulled the home ache of her land. Attending to the others like Antoinette made her stay in Paris less of a job and more of a responsibility she enjoyed.

Her eyes glistened. The Queen secretly fastened the chain around her wrist. "Thank you, Anne,"

The Queen's smile lifted the weight against her heart- the burden on her shoulders. She played the role of Atlas to hold down the fort while letting Antoinette roam wild to the palace. Now with Jussac off her back, it was one less worry to carefully plan her risky moves. No more breathing down the Cardinal's guard's necks in order to move a pace ahead.

"Now go. Save them," she hoped.

With that, Antoinette flew.

* * *

All was left up to Antoinette once again for the third time that day to match her pace to a racing horse. Her heart beat furiously against her ribcage. The dull ache from yesterday returned, searing tender wounds.

A hand crawled up to the smoothed walls while the other coiled across her waist. She hunched back in pain. The only push that kept her forward was to save her friends from the Cardinal's hand through his puppet, the King.

With that in mind, she pushed off the wall. The clinking of the bracelet chain announced her presence walking down the flights of stairs. Under the arch and a set of steps were four kneeling men in single line formation awaiting the guards, a robed and grinning Cardinal, and the young King. What separated her from all of them were two armed soldiers draped in royal blue with unyielding stances. She eyed the both of them up before taking a descending step closer.

One of them crooked his neck and threatened the spear he held. "You can't pass when the King is present," He muffled through his chainmail.

Antoinette cocked her hip out, chained hand resting on it. She raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the bracelet. They both looked with interest.

"You'll see to it that I can," she said defiantly. The guards, alarmed, raised their spears back to their post. She smirked. "Alert your guards to escort the Queen her. She's already on her way with only her ladies to attend her," she scolded them for leaving the Queen unprotected.

One looked to another and both of them sent a squadron with to aid the Queen. Antoinette giddily smiled at her performance. Her happiness was short lived when the court pager cleared his throat.

Afraid she was found, she hid by the siding of a stairwell. Just the reach of her head and some of her skirts laid in plain sight. Her gaze fell to the King who marched with dignity.

"His Majesty, the King!"

Never had she had seen such a disgusting shade of vomitting green ensemble on such a noble personnel. Dripped in oozing puke, the King feathered golden button ups and the poofy pantalooms with a slightly less disturbing green tights and buckled polished shoes.

"Well, well, well," The King shook his thick amber burnt hair to the back. He cleared his throat as he motioned from the Musketeers and the Cardinal, whom decided to wear yet again Cardinal red. "Brawling with the Cardinal's guards. That's very bad. What have you got to say for yourselves?"

D'Artagnan, still in the clothes we had worn the day prior, lifted his head out of respect. "We...-"

"-Humbly beg your pardon, Your Majesty," Aramis interrupted. He glared at D'Artagnan for having the nerve to speak out of turn. The rest of the Musketeers easily sighed for the quick decision on Aramis. The King, however, did not seem to care nor notice D'Artagnan's slip up.

"Yes. Yes, I should hope so, too," he said giving off false bravado. "So, tell me, how many were involved in the altercation?"

Porthos bowed his head. "There were four of us against 40 of them, Your Majesty,"

The Cardinal narrowed his eyes. King Louis XIII cocked an eyebrow amused. He chuckled unbelieving, "Four against 40? And you beat them like a drum?"

Richelieu coughed. The King turned to his comrade before facing the Musketeers sternly. Antoinette leaned in attentively.

"And, yes, you shall have to be reprimanded, of course, most harshly I'm afraid. You do understand that, don't you?" The Musketeers nodded. Her heart sped up as Aramis' downcast face awaited for his most severe punishment. Her hand clawed the railing desperately as if it were the King's throat. Such ill will deflected, upon the arrival of the Queen and ladies. Two guards occupied both the front and back of Her Grace.

Queen Anne changed her clothing. Not taking fashion advice from the King or England, she donned an onyx dress with black and gold hemming. As a sign of devotion, an ornate golden cross necklace wrapped around her porcelain, powdered neck. Laid out with lace, her dress jutted out from her shoulders and the back of her neck to create the fan. Her ruffled skirts had tiny sapphire gems placed here and there. Especially attached to the arm sleeves.

"Hem hem," Antoinette turned about startled. She curtised out of habit, though eyes flickered to the debate down below. "What news?" The Queen asked expectedly.

"We do, Your Majesty," Athos' voice rang from behind.

Antoinette sputtered, "In time for punishment," Constance left her eyes to the ground. She watched Antoinette out of character. The upon-acted Comtesse showered in radiance and decorum with the occasional sprinkle of rebellion. Now, with the fact of pain on death, she's as fidgety as a flounder in a netting.

The Queen neither shook her head nor showed any expression on her face. Antoinette finished her straining courtesy and offered back the Queen's bracelet. With her outstretched hand, Antoinette fastened the bracelet on her left wrist. "That simply won't do," Her voice not above a whisper. "Let's see what we could do about that,"

Antoinette took her place to the Queen's right hand side with Constance and the ladies towards the back. Her knees parted to keep her footing on the ground and not in the air. Deep calm breathing didn't abide well with her sides, but she needed them.

"Her Majesty, the Queen!" the castellan cried. The Queen arranged herself to the middle of the flooring with her ladies at the edges. Guards posted theirselves in salute before standing in proper protected stature.

The King, flabbergasted, nervously smoothed out his single curls at both sides. Gloved hands nibbled through his pockets on his green attire.

"Anne," He gulped. "Wha-What a pleasant surprise," His figure, obviously drawn to his Queen, felt best at ease not near her. Antoinette stuided the same affects she known: Sweaty palms, a fluster of the chest, twitchy knees. The tell tale signs that this man did not ignore the Queen. He was too love stricken with her presence.

Antoinette smiled. The Queen had nothing to fear. Still, the Queen managed a pearly smile that could charm anyone.

"My ladies and I wanted to see the valiant Musketeers who stood against the Cardinal's guards," she said eyeing them individually.

"Four against 40?" she said. She glanced at Constance teasingly. "Or was it 400?"

Athos answered on obiedence. "Just 40, Your Majesty. It was an off day,"

The ladies in the back giggled. Antoinette chuckled lightly under her breath. Aramis did not lift his head, but his eyes focused on Antoinette in her radiance. There was something unnerving by the way she had looked. Proper. And not the ragged, swashbuckling lass they had grew accustomed to. With her hair curled to perfection and draping her emerald green covered shoulder, Aramis hitched his breath. He dared to look away.

_She belongs here. With all of them. Not with me._ He had thought. He cursed his minds with the notion to have thought of it. She was here now to save all of their skins, including hers. _Never should have come if it had came to this._ His eyes resumed back to the floor.

Antoinette sighed. No matter how hard she had tried to fit in, it was clear to her she did not belong. Not that belonging in the palace suited her. She wanted to explore the world, and not be trapped in a single place with a single purpose. Though she found the Queen's comfort and Constance's friendship delightful, it would not be enough to change her mind.

She wanted new and excitement. Change of pace. Like her mother once dreamt of. She didn't close these thoughts when the King chuckled affectionately at his bride Queen.

"That's my Musketeers for you. By the time they write songs about them, it'll be 4,000," The hall laughed along with him. Richelieu's moustache twitched. _If the insolent brat will just hurry along... I have a country to run, not he._

The Queen patted her hands together. "I hope you won't be too harsh with them. After all, boys will be boys," She moved down the line to stop at the newcomer. "You must be D'Artagnan," she addressed. "My lady in waiting has told me about how brave and dashing you were yesterday. But you must try not to be so reckless," Her advice held wisdom and light scolding to the youth.

D'Artagnan replied, "Can't help myself, Your Majesty,"

Impatiently, Cardinal Richelieu reminded the King. "Your Majesty, the culprits,"

"Ah! Yes, yes. Well, stand up then," Each Musketeer had done so with the exception of D'Artagnan. The King patted his chest patiently walking down the line. "Athos. Porthos. Aramis," His Majesty stopped at D'Artagnan, almost appalled at his nature. "Forgive me for saying this D'Artagnan, but you do look a little underdressed,"

Without so much of a warning from Aramis, D'Artagnan ran along his mouth. "My father is a poor man, Your Majesty. A former Musketeer as well. These are the only clothes I have,"

The King stepped back. "Oh, Lord," His eyes widened in fright. As much as Antoinette wanted to roll her eyes, not wasn't the time nor place. She bowed her head down but kept a watchful eye on the King. "We shall have to rectify that. Can't have my Musketeers, or the son of one, looking like tramps," He walked back pointing at the men. "New suits all around, I think. Yes. You'll see to that, Cardinal?" The Cardinal indeed rolled his eyes, but nonetheless remained quiet as his King jabbered. "And,yes, I think a purse of gold for each as a reward for your courage. You'll see to that as well, Cardinal. And, yes, before I forget, no more fighting with His Eminence's guards. Or there'll be none of them left,"

Richelieu intervened, "Your Majesty, might I suggest a more-"

The Queen lifted her chin. "Forgive my impudence, Cardinal, but I doubt the King requires your advice in this matter. After all, they are his Musketeers," The Cardinal stood resilient while the King chose a confused but adoring expression at the Queen. "Might I also remind you that you have not yet sent me those papers I asked for," Her voice steeled assuming her authority. Antoinette smiled at the Queen's progression of standing up for herself and the good of her husband.

Richelieu gripped his hand firmly. "What papers would they be, Your Majesty?" he gritted his teeth.

"Departure for one of my lady-in-waitings. And the foreign policy," she replied stoicly.

He laughed earnestly to himself. "Your Majesty would hardly want to burden herself,"

"On the contrary," she stiffled. "I take a very keen interest in everything that is done in my name as well as my husband's,"

"As Your Majesty pleases," he bowed along with the King. One out of respect, the other in slight defeat. _No matter, Cardinal is only tasting the bitter reserve he built up in the dungeons._ Antoinette curled her smile. Her eye caught to Aramis, who was trying to concentrate on Their Majesties. It was a losing battle. A flicker of his face eyed a postured Antoinette, leaning towards the Queen's side for support. She could clearly tell his jaw clenched turning face about. She mentally reminded herself to remove the corset sooner than later.

_Or he could have the pleasure in doing that himself._ She cheekily thought.

"She does," The Queen infiltrated Antoinette's repartee. "Lady Antoinette, would you kindly direct these fine men to the royal tailors?" Anne's eyes held a sense of pride and joy she had never known when she was younger.

Antoinette curtsied. "Your Majesty,"

"Good day, gentlemen," The Queen's horde of ladies followed in her lead out of the grand checkered hall. Soldiers changed their salutes quickly as she approached their way.

The King's wandering eyes did not take much to figure out what he desired. A moment with the Queen at his side. Antoinette skirted to Athos' side, while the King reprimanded himself for catching to stare at her.

"That'll be all. Go on you, rascals," The Musketeers opted for one last bow. "Oh and be there for the parade tomorrow. New suits and all," The King clapped his hand and the trumpets went off with a short bang of the castellan's rod to disengage floor activity.

LIke the sea, Richelieu parted the crowd of men settling over to the King in the opposite direction. Without taking the movement to nod in his direction, Antoinette slyly said, "Good day, Cardinal,"

He stopped right behind her. He hissed, "God will cast a hollow spotlight on you, someday, Lady Antoinette,"

Leaving the last word to her, she added, "I look forward to it," In his fury he rushed up the stairs ordering for his pages to send him something to drink and eat. More than often he cheated and drank forbidden wine and alcohol infused sea bass.

Athos rested at ease. His hand clapped onto Antoinette's forearm in gratitude. "Thank you, Antoinette,"

"I suppose the Cardinal will heave through for sparing you another day," she said staring at his wake. Porthos fixed his crackling knuckles with pleasure. A swift move of breeze and Aramios situated a hand around her waist delitcately.

"It's fortunate you have friends in high places, Aramis," Porthos gestured to Aramis' lover. "New suits and all, he says. Not such a bad fellow, perhaps," At that Athos groaned impetuously. D'Artagnan had neither banter nor motion to add his two sous to the conversation. Instead he took time to study the same doors the Queen and her ladies- Oh. Antoinette smiled.

_He has an eye for the beautiful but young Constance._

She wrapped her arm around his. "Come on now, D'Artagnan. Can't be caught by a lady looking like a minnow," she snickered. Aramis growled and D'Artagnan scratched the back of his neck as he ripped his arm away from hers.

Porthos snapped his fingers. "Ooh, do you think the King will allow us to pop into the kitchenette for a bit of trout?"

"Your unfathomed appetite continues to surpass our expectations," Athos reflected walking with the rest to the tailors.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Immensely

**Porthos: I'm back! And with my new cane! -whips it out-**

**Rochefort: -comes in and karate chops it and then leaves-**

**Porthos: O.O Can he do that?**

**Me: Yes, yes he can.**

**Buckingham: Ahahahahaha! -leaves-**

**Porthos: O.o Can he do that?**

**Me: No, no he can't.**

**Porthos:... Aren't you going to do something?**

**Me: Right after Antoinette does the disclaimer. You're on!**

**Antoinette: Radiolover1029 does not own any trademark to the Three Musketeers except the plot twists she designed outside of the movie's frame and me... Which is weird.**

**Aramis: I wouldn't mind owning you.**

**Porthos: Ooh! Can he do that, Antoinette?**

**Antoinette: -.- What do you think?**

**Aramis: Yes?**

**Antoinette: -thumps Aramis on head-**

**Me: -finds Buckingham and thumps him on the head-**

**Aramis: Ow!**

**Buckingham: Hey!**

**Porthos: Oh yeah... they can do that.**

* * *

Cheery clouds loomed over Paris today. The luminscent glow through wafting air particles clumped together especially shone over the grand palace. Sun beamed on bronze handles, silver awnings and gold chainmail on the elite guards patrolling the checkerboarded courtyards. With the new glory raining down as the forecast, everything was buffed and polished to the most extreme standards. For today, and only today to the fortunate staff, was the open parade of the British emmissaries. Arriving only two hours before high noon, there would be a marvelous luncheon served on new china and French linens just after the two headlining countries- France and England- sign on the dotted line of the hopeful peace treaty.

Drafted by Cardinal Richelieu, it is the only chance for France to reconnect with King James and his people. French armies already scattered on the Channel and the borders to Spain and with a lowering treasury the country was in dire need to bear and grin a mere morning and partial afternoon with rivals.

Oh, what rivals they were. King James had many trusted allies in his kingdom to snoop out any sneaky suspicions on France's part. It was by decree, Lord Buckingham would deliver his ilk to the palace in a fashionable state to oversee as his master's puppet. Antoinette neither liked the man nor the treaty in Cardinal's hand. A peace treaty, as determinable to seek an end, was not the right approach what with Spanish forces aligned with the Pope in Rome, not with Britain.

Once upon a time, England allowed their Church's devotion to Catholicism to win favor of the Pope in his Holy Roman Empire vision. But a visionary was only what he came to be. A century ago in the House of Tudor, the Head of the Church was proclaimed not to be the Pope or Europe's predominant source of religion, but to the current king. If England would sign the treaty, Spain would continue forcing their brutal troops down French barricades and the Pope would take special eye on France's actions. For if France was allied for too long, she could turn over as Protestant.

Cardinal's actions were meant to tack the peace long enough to backdoor England with allying secretly with Spain, thus upsetting the balance of an entire continent of warfare and rage. As admiral he thinks, Cardinal Richelieu knew that as a holy man it is ungodly. However being a man of progress, forwarding France would right over the original sin of betrayal through documentation.

All these ideas battered around Antoinette's head like a ram when attending the Queen privately. Every lady must dress and perfect the Queen separately. The parade day just so happened to top off Antoinette's list of things to think of.

The creme colored brush with the finest bristles with a silk touch ran over the Queen's wavy hair. With each stroke of the brush, the hair parted from the rest and smoothed out until at the very end the hairpiece curled.

Anne seemed out of place. She usually radiated in her sun soaked private chambers. The ghost of a smile was envisioned in her head.

She cleared her throat. "I am sure Your Majesty is most thrilled for today's parade. The festivites...most extravagant," She chose her words carefully. Taking sides in court were detramental. Can't take back what you done or said. Speaking with the Queen on certain subjects was no exception.

Antoinette once recalled a story of one of the older ladies chiming about German clocks and the cuckoo cuckoo birds within them. Little did Lady Brunhilda knew ever since she was a child, Queen Anne had nightmares of German made clocks and so had every clock in Vienna sent away to the countryside, where she would less likely travel.

The Queen made no movement other than one blink and to soften her lips with a balm. Her attentiveness in her appearance wasn't as focused as yesterday.

"Quite,"

Her voice quieted afterthe brush set besides her. The clang of barrettes and pins grabbed in between hair foliciles, staging her hair in the premiere French twist. A whalebone barrette clipped the hair in the back with few curly cues of hair matting on each side.

"Anxiety," Antoinette fixed an astray pin in the back.

The Queen clutched her nails. "Nerve wrecking." He rbreath hitched against her upper ribs like a wet child in the winter clinging to a warm blanket. "It's the company that follows such excursions." Antoinette raised a brow.

"Lord Buckingham," She might have guessed. Rumors all around she had heard previously about an Austrian dauphine and the English rogue spending a day in the cozy winterlands in tucked away hills in her country. A meal, a game or two, and a gracious ball led both courtiers striken with heat and playing a game of their own all night long. That same young dauphine had experienced heartbreak and matured too fast when the following year it was made an engagement to another man. Two more years after that and a marriage later, that same innocent girl who rather played with her beloved dogs than be played by the most vile yet attractive man in the Western side, sat at the vanity with her lady in waiting preparing her for her first encounter of Buckingham who no doubtly stole many things from the French Queen: her innocence, her playfullness, her family, her freedom, and her life in Austria.

Antoinette never brought about Austria, or anything to do with the Queen's past life. It was too much to see burden written on her face. Downcast from the mood, she picked back up her biased tone. "I am sure his pecularity to games will delight the court,"

For a flick of a moment, Antoinette could have sworn before God that the Queen narrowed the eyes at herself. Not Antoinette, but Anne. Was it hate? Self inflicted pain that aroused? Or could have it been the loss of sweet nature she adapted as her outer shell? Billions of questions, unaswered, went through her mind. And it scared and filled her with pride to know there was another side of the Queen she didn't expose often. On this rare occasion, Antoinette couldn't help put wanting to prode those feelings.

"On the contrary, I'm not willing to partake in Lord Buckingham's attraction to frivolous affairs," she said coolly.

Antoinette quirked half a smile. "Wouldn't want to bore yourself from his dulcet tones,"

The Queen's smile approached full speed ahead. Her laughter wasn't as musical. It was... cynical but in a charming tone. If such a thing were possible.

"You don't warm up to him?" Her glee matched in the eyes.

She remarked straightly, "Not even if he lit a bonfire,"

"Humorous," Her curls seemed to shrink back more closer and precise than looser and down. A hand sprayed the bottle of perfume stored in the left hand corner. She bragged confidently, "I've collected a lady not smitten on sight,"

As much as Antoinette adored the Queen's state of being brightening, she laughed. "Oh, Your Majesty. There are many more like me. Just not of the same social class," She gestured to herself dramatically. She skimmed over the hand carved jewelry box with dozens of earrings. An entire collection devoted in one single box. Not a single piece was put one that glittered. But no piece of diamond or earthly gifts could have impressed a crowd without the Queen's dazzling smile.

The Queen lifted her chin and cocked it to her lady. "How is he?"

She stiffened, "Content,"

She had felt the flush of red scatter across her cheeks. One day. And then she would be out. The Quen had made sure of that as of last night.

"Don't fret," her voice softened, eyes cast low. "With your papers in hand, you are free as of today. Confind in me, freedom is not something to be taken lightly," A shade darkened the Queen's eyes noticeably. The aura she was famously known for omitted instantly with the change of mood. Antoinette felt again the pang of guilt to see her Queen reminding herself of what could never be- the King and her. "Use it wisely,"

"Will do, Anne,"

The Queen quickly turned at the sound of her name. She had thought it foreign but internally settled down remembering her insistance of calling her Anne out of sight. In a rush, she asked, "What do you do when you are in love? How do you approach it?"

Confused and put on the limelight, Antoinette stuttered her breath out. "Your Majesty?"

The Queen didn't stand but it was obvious her feet were jittery in motion. Her golden and peach lined dress with the flat shoulders rustled nervously. Her hands wiped at each other when sweat was beginning to form. "Should I fall head first into the firepit or carefully walk on it like broken glass on the heel? Or do I ignore the impulse,"

"Your Majesty," She calmed her down. Queen Anne pleaded silently for answers or retribution to her swing of moods. Antoinette put aside the choices of jewelry in mind on the vanity and knelt at the Queen. Her questioning eyes noticed her dress needed to smooth out the wrinkles and if she furrowed her brows anymore there would be a deepening aging line waiting for her prematurely. "I'm not sure I am the one to talk about love with. That's for your heart to decide. No man nor woman can define the affairs with the heart by guidelines. Do what you must do," she answered with confidence.

The Queen grabbed her hands suddenly. "Tell me more of your life," she begged. Antoinette did not know what to say. Her mouth agap, her mind still unfolding pieces of her life. There were things the Queen already knew and then there were things the Queen knew not to ask of Antoinette due to her hesitation in retailiation.

The Queen added, searching for her lady in waiting to respond, "You must have gained wisdom from your family that wasn't sprinkled onto mine," Her cherub face was rounded again like a small child's. A small child that asked for help or a friend in need looking for advice.

As honored she had felt, it was nothing compared to the drums of beating guilt, pain, and heavy loss crushing against her lungs. Her world spun around her in mad delirium. Her eyes pictured not the floor or the Queen's chair. Instead she saw before her a pool of memories. Once locked in a secure reserve, the Queen opened up the box and let Pandora suffer the consequences.

"My father was stubborn; paired with my headstrong mother," Her throat chocked with emotion. "Both lusted after each other until one day they held no room in each other's hearts. Father despised mother and did not wish to look upon her resembalance on my face. Mother failed two marriages at her untimely death. Why should I give advice on love?" Tears ruined the bride between her cornea and above her cheekbones. Showing weakness again unsettled her. The Queen might have struggled with her burdens but she drifted away in a happy mood to deal with her Pandora's box later on. There was no stopping for Antoinette's box to lock itself back up for another time.

Improbable.

The Queen stood up, bringing Antoinette up with her. Hand intact, the Queen looked eye to eye with Antoinette.

"Because as much as you don't want to listen to it, you are your mother. You live, laugh, and love without consequence. Just like her, so I'm told. You could easily tell off one of my ladies and they wouldn't backlash. Your unfathomed courage matches your heart for those you care for the most. Your father and mother may not have held together but they had to at one point. You are the focal point of their once love," Antoinette forced herself to overload and her tears had stopped before the first one cascaded down. She swallowed her pride down her throat like bitter cough syrup.

She sat the Queen back down, trying to act like nothing happened. She pushed a hand on her forehead to the impending headache building. Her hand glided over to the jewels. She sniffled, "Your Majesty, gold or bronze?"

"Gold," she smiled. Antoinette began placing the amount of tear dripping jewels on her ears and neck. It was just before she contemplating putting another few on her shoulders sewn on the dress when the Queen slyly added, "It's the same color Aramis thinks of your heart on your sleeve,"

One more tear shed. This time Antoinette let it dry on her cheek.

* * *

"About face!"

Captain Jussac and his subordinants cried out at their posted stations. An army worthy of 10,000 soldiers stood in French blood red with the emblem crossed over their front uniforms. Many stood with their hands on the hilts or the brute of the spear they wield. All were silent on the fields, waiting for the Duke and his emissary of men and most likely women.

Until the facade appeared, the Queen appointed Lady Antoinette a position on the high balcony with the other ladies surrounding the Queen, the King with his men, and Richelieu. Primmed and ready to prune, Antoinette drew in her eyes down by the balcony ledge. Somewhere near the front fountain statute stood the Musketeers. All handsome and spiffed for the occasion.

She had wondered to Porthos whom exoberated happiness whenever free money was spent on him lavishly. Athos neither cared for the new clothes or money. Either way it would be spilt and spent on good wine from the taverns.

And then she thought of Aramis. He always made a good impression. A marvelous second impression. And even a third time he was simply stupendous. Antoinette thought the world of him. She had only hoped to spend her time at the parade with him.

But alas, c'est la vie. That's life. According to superiors they come from two separate worlds. Him, a strong, militaristic, tin soldier. Her, a fair lady with riches to come and titles to endore. At the end of the day, it mattered not. She would be with him as he would be with her. No middle cut.

Her childish demands rang through her head but were outbeat by the King in yet another green ensemble. This one was forest green with a belt buckle hat on top of his ginger hair. One little feather wafted in the wind gently. The hard exterior of the jacket had jagged lines etched into the design, and the flamboyant pants seemed to ridicule his posture.

Antoinette, being the good Comtesse who did not spend her weekends killing others on missions, kept in her laughter.

"Well, where is he, then? It's just appalling manners," he scolded his opponent. Richelieu, from the corner of her eye, was caught between a nervous laugh and an eye roll.

No need for either gesture. The hot sun, whose rays casted brightly on Paris, turned gloomy. Great shadows overtook the sun as a big cloud. Gasps and small shrieks from the audience sent there attention to the heavens. In place of a cloud was something similiar to plywood. It looked to be the bottom of an ocean liner ship any armada would have.

Except it was _flying_.

That's right. An airborne ship that sailed through the skies as it's sea. Antoinette gripped onto the Queen when she swayed from surprise. Constance heaved the Queen upright as everyone glances above them. Hovering over the palace and all their heads was a ship attached to what would be a balloon of some sorts.

"Drop anchor!" said a man on board.

"Damn his impudence!" the King cursed. He cocked his head innocently. "What is that thing called anyway, Richelieu?"

The Cardinal, for once at a lost for words, implied, "An airship, Your Majesty?"

Dark shades of purples and blues stood out to Antoinette. This was no apocalyptic doom, it was the emissary Buckingham promised. _Might as well be the same thing._ Antoinette rolled her eyes mentally.

The King raised an eyebrow at his visor. "Why don't I have one of those?"

Richelieu slid it under the table, hoping the King was too in awe of the airship machine rather than complain to him again. "An oversight on our part,"

"Right, right. Well, build me one,"

Curious to how they would weigh anchor, everyone on top of the balcony rushed after the King and the Queen to lower down to the courtyard squares. Just before marking the front door steps a loud pang of metal hitting cobblestone bricks scratched everyone's ears. Antoinette watched the swing of the airship made it's way to correct it's direction down.

As if God sent a sign from above, because the ship moved it's weight in a different direction it hit the side of one of the French flags posted. The staff bent like a twig and dropped unceremoniously to the ground in horror.

The airship lowered slowly to the ground. On deck, eight men in royal blue slid down on provided ropes on each side of the longboards. They secured the lines of the ship, checked the anchor and let the touchdown go smoothly.

Antoinette hurried her steps away from the royal brigade to march near where the King and Cardinal situated for the arrival of their guest. To the sides were men of military decoration. Four had stood out. From the the first sign of them, Antoinette disobeyed orders and swiftly, while everyone stared at the door with the plank boards emerging at the front of the ship, to Athos and Aramis in line.

Aramis' eyes flickered to her, widened. Antoinette stood besides him, eyeing his new wardrobe. The King delivered upon his word. He never looked handsome-r in professionally tailored black suits with blue and gold belts. However there was no time for exchanges when every soldier knelt to one knee in salute to royalty. To-

"Buckingham," Athos murmured. Antoinette dipped into a curtsy without haste.

Lord Buckingham posed dramatically at the foot of his ship decked in royal blue like his men. His voluminous hair looked the same, so was the stupid earring he wore in the one ear but not the other. She made note of how _green_ the King became. He was _green_ with envy.

"Blue. Oh," The King scoffed at himself for trusting what gut he had for mistrusting the royal dressmaker.

"Your Majesty," Buckingham flourished with an ostentatious bow. He smirked at the young King in his outfit alongside Richelieu. "Love the outfit. Very retro. We were all wearing those in London when was it, last year or the year before?" His scornful yet playful nature kicked in.

King Louis huffed. He forced a grin. "Lord Buckingham, I trust your journey wasn't too uncomfortable,"

Buckingham's eyes set dreamily at his ship, bragging and boasting waiting to be done. "Not at all. No. On the contrary. Handles like a dream and keeps me one step closer to heaven,"

Mad feelings of Venice flooded back then. It was not his appearance that upset her. No, he was easy on the eyes. It was the crude spirit he possessed thinking he ruled all and could control everyone in sight. Slaughtering free will.

How badly she wished to say to him, "Yeah because your one step away from hell," However her reservations burrowed deep in the bleeding, scarred parts of her hardened heart. The voice he had- English born was filled with snooty remarks and smirks curling upon his curt moustache.

"Cardinal," He acknoweledged the man in red with another bow. He knelt in place and grabbed for the Cardinal's hand to kiss the ring. Although rough and cut short, the slithering smile of Buckingham told another story of his religious endeavors. He tucked his hands together, perched like a peacock to flaunt his feathers.

"Of course, being a servant of God, you have no need for such crude devices,"

Antoinette heard the rough laugh of Richelieu pipe out of his hoarse throat. "I'll be sure to say a prayer for Your Lordship's continued health,"

Buckingham drawled, "Please do. I would hate for something unfortunate to happen during my visit. After all, were I, say, to be struck by lightning during my time in Paris, well, England would have a martyr, France would be vilified, and the Cardinal would have to re-examine the power of his prayer,"

She blanched seeing Richelieu have only the sliver of fear- something he did not tend to show. Behind the stadium of the royal show came another contender into the play. Queen Anne. Constance and another lady stood behind her as a shield and defenders.

Snidely the Queen put out, "And we wouldn't want that. Lord Buckingham,"

The curl of his moustache intended to the Queen sent Antoinette into her protective streak. If it were her way, the Queen would be safely guarded without that bear mauling her in public. Like a cat trapping his mouse, he enticed her in the circle of conversation.

Antoinette could only pray alongside with the others. "Anne. Your Majesty," He mock pretended to correct himself in front of the King and guests. "I must say your beauty is far more radiant than I remember,"

While the Queen hid her face behind stony features, the crash of the King sent him back into reality. The one where he realized he isn't truly the best leader he could possibly be for France.

Disheartened, he asked, "You've met before?"

"A long time ago,"

To add salt to the wound, Buckingham swept his gaze over the Queen's youthful figure. "An evening I shall cherish forever,"

The King turned to Cardinal, "Is there anyone he doesn't know?"

Cardinal produced, "An extraordinary man,"

Buckingham leered, "You were quite impressive," Antoinette sputtered incoherent French curses beneath her breath wishing for a dagger and a headstone for him. Buckingham corrected himself for the perverse comment with some intent to destroy her, "Impressive at cribbage. Perhaps we can play a hand or two during my stay,"

She replied coolly, "I'm afraid I'm not much for games anymore,"

Frowning, Buckingham showered from pride to small disappointment and then back to the same sneer he wore previously. "Shame. You don't know what you're missing,"

The Queen hissed back, "Your Lordship shall just have to play by himself. I recommend solitaire,"

He ignored her to return his encounter with a red-beaten King Lous XIII. "King James is most eager to hear your peace proposal," he drawled with tad annoyance.

"Right," he quirked through thin lips. "Well, shall we?"

The King and Richelieu led him away from the distraught Queen in dire need, only to stop by the kneeling Musketeers and the deep in curtsy Antoinette. She thanked her mother for having strong heels in these cases.

Buckingham hummed to himself. "Now this is a pleasant surprise,"

"Another acquaintance of yours, I see," said the irritated King.

Athos narrowed his eyes up. "We've met, yes,"

Buckingham tsked. He pointed his finger to the leader of the troupe in retailiation. "As I recall, last time I saw you, you were on your knees as well. Most unfortunate habit," Injury was made when without a glance to the curtsying lady, he addressed, "Wouldn't you agree, Lady Antoinette?"

She bit her tongue down and remained calm at the moment. If Aramis could hold her hand he would crush it against his palm to resist the temptation to utter a word. The box creaked open with dulcet tones of Buckingham echoing out.

Athos clenched his teeth. "It's a habit I shall have to break during our next encounter,"

Buckingham challenged back, "I look forward to it. Lady Antoinette. In the meantime, shall we talk peace?"

He had finally left and there were six distinct audible sighs coming from the arena. One from the emotionally overwhelmed Queen walking besides her ladies. One from D'Artagnan would decided to remain mum on the first royal occasion invited to. Three from the Musketeers, and the last to Antoinette. The last sighs still rolled around the air. So many unspoken words. Most of them fighting talk.

* * *

With the parade dismissed, figuring the airship was all Lord Buckingham had to show off to a military troupe of 8,000 armed guards, Aramis stole Antoinette away to the private gardens where only few guards were postred at the far off corners. At the norm, Antoinette would be hosting lunch with the men, slap Planchet on the arm for childishly digging into the pastries before the meat, and then let the stories come forth into a hazy afternoon.

However this was but anything of the norm. There they were in the garden, uninterrupted and ready to soak in the boiling sun from couped up shadows in the palace. She lazily drew a smile. Her hand coiled around a prickly lily-of-the-valley from it's roots, twilring it around her hand by the stem. The aroma of lily mixed with fresh evergreen leaves oiled her hair when she placed it behind her ear.

Aramis breathed in the new scent at ease, wrapping an arm tightly around her waist. They took their sweet time over the cobblestone paths. No words need be spoken between the two other than the occasional whimsical sigh.

That was not the case for Antoinette.

Aramis said out of the blue while passing a trickle of a pond, "I cannot recall the last time we strolled through a garden,"

Netta laughed quietly to herself, smudging a hair piece in it's practical place. She corrected, "The monastary we visited in Spain,"

The flow of the water besides them ebbed and flowed southward to the opening of a stream. The downhill rapids rocked against the rocks and circled back to the center of the garden near the terrace.

The dark hum of Aramis' breath disturbed the peace for a brief moment. "Our first mission outside of France. Riveting,"

A north bound wind kissed their warm cheeks. His eyes grew remorseful; but Antoinette paid no mind for it. She was used to Aramis' sudden shift in conversations. Other people didn't have to assume the woeful role of Musketeer. The adventure she thrilled for, but the purpose of the mission she soon forgotten until the moment she thrust the sword to slay a life. For Antoinette, she dealt with it like Porthos: distractions and a glass of Bourdeaux. Her lover's healing process offered altercations.

His soul rested in constant warring states. First madness, then guilt, sorrow, and then finally the whole weighting pound of a gavel banged across his heavy heart. Missions weren't meant for the faint of heart. Aramis and Antoinette accepted that the moment they travelled together. Just, they never thought how much a killing or an assasination could deteriorate their souls.

"The sights?" The more conversation, the better distraction. Antoinette already felt her heart sink into the depths of the sea. Her first kill. A drowning. It wasn't her fault. It was a hired gunman who attempted to thwart her. She just got the better of him.

Mysteriously, he responded, "That too, I guess,"

"Wouldn't it be wonderful to visit there again?" She diverted her eyes again to the flowers and the springtime hymns of the trees and bees.

He grunted, "Perhaps," She raised her brow. Her posture leaned into his side. Antoinette's head rested pleasantly on his right shoulder, slowing their steps into a drifting forward waltz. "If the King granted us another mission there," he commented.

"Ohh," The waltz ended. Her vision of the Spanish country-side in the little pueblo inn with courtyards and sun bathing pools for entertainment. She wouldn't have minded a week or two there with Aramis. "Well, I was thinking when this is all over,"

"Over?" He glanced down at her.

She bit her lip nervously. "Being a Musketeer," He stopped altogether in there walk. His petrified state left only his hands to fidget to grasp her hand. The thought never had occured to him.

He, Aramis, eventually would retire from his duty to France and the current King to leave into a humble life. He played his part for so many long years. Orginally the occupation was too daring to give up. Then after the first year, with many regretable deaths of comrades and good friends, he would have wished it away. But then he steeled himself. Grew a harder shell about him. The mere presence of death still waked him, but emotional wise he could have been mistaken for a handsome wraith in disguise. "I know that's many years to come but... if the King could give you some time off- a vacation- we could go there," she summoned her courage.

He side stepped away from her hold on his arm. Needy, he grabbed her hands in his to pull her fluttering attention like a honeybee. From flower to flower. At the moment, he needed her unwavered attention. "Antoinette, we've discussed this," he said with all seriousness.

Taken back, she blinked back her eyes at him. Her sharp tongue bit against her teeth on the edge, "Yes, four years ago. I haven't mentioned it since," she reminded him. "What's so bad about travelling the world? You've done it many times before,"

Aramis scoffed. He turned his head to the palace and for any movement of guards. Once he was safe with speaking above his favored whisper, he lectured her, "Yes, because it was my duty. I did not have the privilege to come and go as I please as you do," The sudden haste of coming and going emotions darkened his eyes. The frightful attraction stoned Antoinette's reaction.

As soon as the bitter taste of acidic words left his lips he instantly felt his regret. Antoinette was a woman of many words, most sarcastic. To see her truly stunned at his appalled nature left him no choice but to soften the blow he swiftly delivered. He mentally recaptured his mind to not act on militaristic tactics all the time.

He pecked her lips softly, watching her eyes carefully. No water in her tear ducts. Only wounds on her shaky hands. "I'm sorry if I seem harsh but as of the moment, I don't think it's a good idea to take a trip down memory lane," he whispered into her ear. The lily brushed back against his nose, nearly tickling his senses.

Antoinette held onto her emotions. "So it would be best for all of us for me to stay at home alone, cooking and cleaning and waiting until you come back?" she asked him. Aramis shuffled his feet, out of character. He was walking on eggshells with his rapid tone.

"Not neccessarily," He waved their hands in the breeze. "You would have Planchet. Can't tell if that's a plus or negative in your book," He leaned forward for another kiss, hoping he had regained her favor. To his dismay, she let go of their hands to walk away.

"You don't get it," She turned at the heel on the fifth step. The distance between them was short but seemed to walk on forever for Aramis. He closed that gap leering after her.

"Then make me understand," His forehead nudged against hers, hands on her shoulders. She closed her eyes. A year's worth of moods swung back in forth like clockwork. Antoinette had to breath in and out several times sorting out the words that she needed to say versus the words she wants to say later on.

Aramis waited patiently, letting her take her time. "For the past year, I've been cooped up in the palace like a caged bird. Everytime I try to spread my wings, they clip them down,"

He lifted a side of his mouth. "I'm going out on a limb that 'they' implies the Cardinal and Rochefort,"

"Not just them. Everyone," Her whispers pleaded to strengthen into normal tones. "I cannot be someone I'm not here. Just for once I would like to get the hell out of here and explore every crevice on this earth. It's my dream. You know that,"

Aramis wondered out loud. He begged with her, something he hadn't done in a long while, "Haven't we traveled enough for two lifetimes?"

She laughed pitifully, drawing herself closer to him. "Yes, but never without a mission. We wouldn't have to worry about examining artifacts or planning motives for who to kill whom. Together we could relax and enjoy the destination," Sugar dreams of clouds in the sky, breezes on the beach, love in the air, the wind carrying them wherever and whenever. "Why are you so against it?" she asked him.

He wet his lips as if he could taste her visions on his taste buds. The sweet smell of lily transformed into various spices and cultural foods they dined together on. As much as he wished to savour each and every one, familiarizing them, he couldn't. The scent altogether disappeared, leaving the only French smell of lilies in his olfactory senses.

"Because of the pain it brings," His words choked on her mouth. "It's not the journey that bothers me as much as the destination you remember. Everyday I deal with my own hauntings of men and women I slain by my hand for some greater cause in France," He lifted a hand up. No flaws were detected by anyone but him. He could almsot imagine the strain of carrying the blades, the sweat formed in the heat of a battle, and the splotches of rusted blood- his or no- collected in between the grit of the lines. God's knitted creation was violated by inhumane disgust and tragedy. "I was once a priest, who did not believe in such principles to innocently slay no matter how much the person deserved it. Even though I am a Musketeer, I still retain an aspect from the teachings in Notre Dame. I've caused too much pain to go on back," His head seemed to cluster too many quick kills, where he didn't mind to check the victims as he ended their misery with the stop of a blade.

She held the back of his head. "We don't have to go back to those particular places. Start anew,"

Aramis sighed woefully. "There will always be a country we travel to with a stain of blood in a house, alley, or field that I shed. Just knowing is a burden enough,"

Antoinette could not change their pasts. There was nothing but time and prayer to heal that. Her dream she had confessed to him all those years ago, still left her unfulfilled. Wouldn't there be a time for them to enjoy each others company? No mission, no Richelieu, no King, nor France to stop them? After all the six years she had dealt with between one conflict to another, the dull childhood dream of seeking love and adventure still thumped like a drum to her heart. "So... what would you do if you retired?"

Only then did Aramis smile. He kissed her longingly. Antoinette felt his lips as a serene gift. It wasn't necessary or out of the ordinary for Aramis to answer a question with a little passion. He hummed to himself, laxing her in his strong arms.

"Rest in peace and live the rest of my days with you. Settled down, get married, maybe kids down the line. Simplicity," he said eyes darting to the sky.

Antoinette visibly stiffened. "Marriage? Children?"

Aramis, concerned, tore his gaze from the sun to her. "Has the thought never occured to you?" An eyebrow cocked.

Her widened eyes did not reduce. He checked her vitals, knowing this was the real reaction she had on. Not some play along one. "It has," she said twiddling her hands nervously. "I know I'm with you for all the years I have left. But..." Her guarantee met with a hesitation.

He frowned. "Not marriage,"

She gasped at the accusation. "No- I mean yes. No, I meant... Yes, I want to be married eventually but it's the settling down part I oppose to. The world's spinning too fast. Make it stop!" She pounded a hand to her head as she shook her stupid hesitations away.

He wrestled her arms to her sides. "Netta, at ease," he commanded soothingly. "In no way am I asking your hand to fasten to mine just yet," Just then he noticed her skin blanched and her hands started to moisten from angst. She had flashbacks swimming in her usual warm eyes with fervority. "Antoinette, I'm not your father. Nor are his antics like mine," he gritted his teeth letting his syllable soak into her head one at a time.

She came to, crinkling her nose at the mention of her father. Antoinette said ridiculously, "I know that,"

He sent a kiss to her forehead and a loving hug melted her against him, molding together. Another kiss on her forehead trailing down to the tip of her chin followed. "I respected your decision four years ago when I proposed to you. And I still do today. We have all the time in the world for our future. Let's just enjoy the present," His hands wandered about teasingly at her lower back. The kneading in her back unlocked those nerves that stiffened her spine. The flashbacks had stopped and she was melting in his muscular arms.

She laughed seductively. "You know, I thought you a fool when you presented me an unpaid for ring in the dealer's shop. I thought it was a ploy to get me to bed,"

"Then I had two motives," he said taking in her lips again. "While we are on the vague topic of the future, how many chidren would you desire," He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Aramis!"

He laughed incredulously. "You can talk about marriage but I cannot talk about children?"

She tried with delight to escape his hold of her. "At this point a boy sounds wonderful. That way these ladies won't be stealing him away to play dress up and tea time," she joked.

He sobered mockingly. "They've deprived so much from you,"

"Stop patronizing me,"

"Or what? You'll en garde with a tulip?" His lips teased her once again.

She rolled her eyes. "No, but I think I'll join an abbey and learn celibacy from the nuns. Apparently they **travel** to the sister abbey to commision more followers to the Christian faith," she emphasized with a traitorous smile.

He scolded, "Evil. Using abstinence and religion against me. You've learned well from Porthos," Her miracle of a laugh softened his heart like butter in August. He slyly tucked her arm in his leading her astray the path that was meant for walking, onto the grass. "But I'm afraid forgiveness will cost you," he tuned into his preaching abilities mixed with the traits of his minx.

She groaned at the timing. She looked around self consciously. "This time can we at least make it to my room?"

He laughed, taking her behind a great big weeping willow tree behind a pair of oaks. "No promises," His hands went to work on unfastening the dress.

* * *

Eventually they did make it back to her chambers after a quick round in the gardens. They had barely managed to look presentable when the door knob clicked shut. Amidst the passion they had shared, brought to surface other swept under the rug issues they had waited for a year to talk about. Antoinette wanted to talk about them before something else should happen but Aramis insistent needs jumped her list of priorities askew.

She had awaken alone and nestled inside the comforter and white linens. Her hair slightly touseled as she roused. Her gaze shifted to the empty side to her right. Antoinette grabbeda piece of parchment with scribbles in Aramis' hand.

She wraped the sheets around her as she sat up.

_Dearest Antoinette,_

_As I pen this note soon to be attached to your pillow down, I look upon your sleeping beauty face. Such peace we have found in the last few days. My heart had nearly beat out of it's socket the moment I first set eyes on you. If it be a year or a thousand years, no amount of time would distance the love and happiness I hold for you as you have done for me._

_Alas, it is I to be leaving you this morning. I don't think it would be a proper thanks to the King should I arrive at the breakfast table with you without first donning on another outfit. As much as I wish to be holding you the moment you awaken and not ready sleepily my letter, it will come by soon._

_For penance of my terrible act of leaving you the satisfaction to spend the morning in between the sheets with each other, I have plucked from the gardens a new lily. Seeing as the last one was discarded somewhere about the grounds. Breath in it's scent and remember of my undying heart for you and I._

_Be with you,_

_Aramis_

It was then the golden tears of happiness shed. She scrambled about to her dresser where a lily laid on top of the counter. Out of habit she sniffed the petals, smiling. Realizing she was clad in nothing she rushed to her wardrobe and plucked the first thing to wear, a lily blue brocade dress with navy blue spiralings delicately lacing around her body.

She hummed dreamily curling her wavy hair into it's beautiful setting. She sighed as her gaze turned to the lily in the reflection of the mirror. From the mirror she noticed her door open again. Hoping it to be him, she turned her head.

Millie, the maid entered with new towels and cleaned and pressed gowns no doubt were there for show when she would return to the Parisian residence instead of here.

"Your Ladyship is up and about at this hour?" A girlish blush roused on the maid's cheeks at her mistress brushing down the curls into looser strands.

"Yes, I had a... vigorous healthy sleep last night. Couldn't wait to rise," she responded with a sly smile snaking her lips. Her laughter went up to her eyes.

The maid started her routine of making the bed. To her surprise she had seen the side her ladyship did not usually sleep on, already rustled. "Who was the handsome guest in your bed?" she asked innocently.

Antoinette folded the parchement once her hair was settled down. The flower laid on top. A spritz of it's perfume waved to her being. "A very good man. One with morals, dignity, honor," she recalled happily.

The maid giggled as if it was a spoiled moment. "He sounds absolutely perfect,"

"Not perfect," she remembered. "The only things perfect is the dawn and her hopes," A sapphire clipping to each hole in her ears and a diamond necklace and off she went. The maid said her goodbyes at the flee of her ladyship.

Antoinette felt the euphoria taking over. The happy glaze that coated her pores heightened into a sweet sunrise tan. She teased her mind to embarass Constance the latest way to collect a healthier tan. Her steps in the hallway were not rushed or in panic of getting caught. At a slow pace she enjoyed for once the unnecessary length of the hallway.

One hallway opened up towards the side, the way to the Queen's wing. A flicker of movement was caught by Antoinette. She paused at the side edge. Her back to the wall, and her head cocked in the movement's direction. Going away from her was a womanly figure in gold with auburn tresses and the swagger of a cat. She inspected a step further and noticed the slink woman turn her heads in all directions except from behind to then go up the stairs to the Queen's hidden balcony on the top of the roof.

Milady de Winter. The Comtesse pursued her destination to the top, alarming Antoinette. She was here for one person- to meddle. Be it she might have allied with the Cardinal but even with France on her side, her affairs created disturbances with the pack of Musketeers and herself.

They must be warned. Or at least allow some of the guards to deal with her.

Antoinette straightened her composure but this time walked for only a short distance and a flight of stairs to finally meet with a young lad dressed in royal King blue.

She motioned for him. "Guard, there's an intruder in the Queen's wing. Please see it she's properly escorted," she sped up her exhaustion as if a chaotic event had took place.

The youngster nodded shakily before rounding up five or six more blue dressed guards to the direction Antoinette had given. She huffed a sigh, turning her person away from the ongoing commotion of guards.

Constance popped out from a room with a basket of sheets folded nicely in her arms. She walked over to Antoinette. "What was all that about?" she averted her eyes to the running guards.

"Vermin on the Queen's floor," she said inspecting a stray dust particle underneath a nail bud of hers.

Constance riveted, "A mouse?"

Antoinette shook her head. She turned her rolling eyes to the Queen's wing. An illusion appeared of a laughing Milady once again playing tricks on her. The more she had pretended to imagine the laugh, the worse her mood downed. "More like a rat,"

She gestured for Constance to lead the way for one last morning of duties. No need for Milady she had to remind herself with constant vigilance. _She'll receive her just desserts eventually._

Antoinette's spirit returned to her when she served her hopeful Queen once reminding her why she had risen early in the first place.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she had giggled.

* * *

**Ah, don't you hate it when you're in a good mood and then everything falls apart when you see something you dislike? Mood killer. :P**

**Anyway, from here on out, this will be more fast paced because of the action and I have to fill in the blanks because the movie doesn't show everything I wish to see. Plus I don't have to mind the Milady, Buckingham, or Cardinal scenes which are lengthy.**

**The peak of writing this chapter: the conversation between Aramis and Antoinette: it's more in depth and shows the two blossoming outside of the movie's standards.**

**The pit of writing this chapter: Trying to find words to describe Cardinal Richelieu's actions. And his voice. It does change line from line! From French, to English and I swear I heard a Spanish dialect once! But anywhoooo... REVIEW!**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Set, Game, Match

**Cardinal: -steps on stage- Greetings, worthless peasants-**

**King: -interrupts with distress- Richelieu! Richelieu! I am interrupting with distressing news!**

**Cardinal: -forces smile- I am addressing this... lovely group of audience Your Majesty. What is the problem? Another wardrobe malfunction?**

**King: Yes and no! First off, radiolover1029 said I must wear an orange hat made out of dyed duck feathers for a scene! The atrocity! Oh, and second this mysterious letter addressed to me tells me to say to you that you must stand right on the spotted mark "X".**

**Cardinal: What?**

**King: Right there. -points to "X"-**

**Cardinal: -rolls eyes- If you insist. -stand on "X"- Now what?**

**King: Next it says for me to get out the prepared umbrella and then watch with laughter.**

**Cardinal: O.o What, I repeat?**

**Me: -pops out of nowhere and smashes a banana cream pie on his face- Suck it Cardinal! Sincere hilarity, from Buckingham.**

**Cardinal: -with a banana cream stashe- This means war!**

**Me: Hehe, not if I do this. -pulls secret lever. Watches with glee as the "X" mark turns into trap door-**

**Cardinal: AHHHHHHHH! NOOOOOOO! FOILED AGAAAAIIIIINNNN!**

**King: Oh! Oh! Radiolover1029, may I?**

**Me: Sure!**

**King: Radiolover1029 does not have the authority vested in the respected industries and companies to own any part of the Three Musketeers except for the original ideas radiolover1029 came up with.**

**Me: For a man willing to wear puke green, you're alright. Hahaha**

* * *

There wasn't a moment too lose in the day.

Or at least those were the Queen's parting words.

Right? At least something of the sort...

Either way Antoinette followed her heart straight to rickety home on the riverside boulevard. With total elation she spent the rest of the waxing night catching up with the others. Discussing old times, recollecting the happy memories or the victorious smirks shared in their story telling. Some more exaggerated tha others- Porthos.

They drank. They laughed. And then they retired for the night. Most of them. Three guesses who.

Her hair laid in disarray across the cool pillow. Tonight was a rare occasion the weather didn't bother to stick humid mist on the town. Instead it was sprayed with a light shower.

_Much needed _Antoinette thought of the flowers she planted years ago aroound the house. They had made a nasty habit to brown in the dry heat and suffer without a drop of water due to the other occupant's neglection. Antoinette gave each of them an earful when she found her prized tulips down.

The soft breathing of Aramis soothed the noisy crickets outside. But for some odd reason it could not rest Antoinette's eyes at ease. It only took a short interlude of whispering breaths to droop her eyelids. Just like the uncanny weather, her conscious refused to sleep.

She cringed her eyes together shut and flopped to her sides. No comfort. Her back nor her stomach compromised any feeling of acheless sleep. Giving up, she ripped her side of the blankets and fur out of frustration. Her hair in the midnight light hugged the frame of her back. She shrugged on her night shawl and tucked two fingers on the candle light holder lit on the desk.

Antoinette proceeded out of the room, shivering in her shawl from the drafty hallway window at the end. Loud stomps came up the stairs besides her. A rotund shadow followed after portly Planchet, whose nightcap slipped towards the right.

He smacked his lips noisily and rubbed some deprived sleep from his eyes to address his mistress. "Wouldn't go down there, miss. Master Athos is at the bottle again," he mumbled. His stance wasn't firm and he looked ready to keel over from exhaustion.

Out of all the men living together, Athos seemed to talk the less. If he didn't watch it, he would turn out lie Aramis in the beginning of his Musketeer days- to speak only when spoken to. Not even drinking or feasting loosened his tongue the hours she spent with them on recent. "Figured as much. Thank you, Planchet. As you were," Antoinette waved him on to his new posted bed- the rusted, crap filled balcony.

Planchet nodded rambunctiously. He passed her with some unsteady steps. She descended down the stairs, using only the glow of the half burnt candle guide her down. Once close to the kitchenette table, she blew it out curtly. The waft of smoke curled towards her shadow, which clung to the darkwood walls. Taking the center of the table were three bottles: two opened with one gone and the other half filled. One more bottle settled out of it's brethen, standing as the back up drink. Grasping the neck of a bottle, Athos quirked his eyes to the bottle and then leant back in his seat as if he must move or do something to reason his drinking.

Antoinette watched sadly as her companion drunk in silence. No grumbles or mutters opened his mouth. His stoic face held no emotions. Athos might have not been known for his expressions but certainetly he wouldn't want his legacy wet with beer stains.

Without so much as a wave or friendly greeting, Athos consumed his face to the bottle. "Pointless to conceal yourself. You know my sixth sense,"

Setting the candle away from the spills of alcohol, Antoinette occupied the head of the table seat. Athos neither looked nor spoke anymore to her. Looking at the bottles and the few last spoils at the bottoms, she shook her head disapointedly.

She narrowed, "It is also wasteful to drown your sorrows before the morrow,"

With mirth, he scorned, "Aramis did not tire you out?"

Antoinette, neither repulsed or responsive, took the only other bottle. She uncorked it and just then noticed how Athos did not require the obstacle of a glass.

Almost used to the derogative tone drunk men possessed she thought nothing of Athos' growl building up in his throat for stealing his drinks. "No, he did. It's his bear-like snores that keep me from sleep," She rolled her eyes swallowing a drink from the slender bottle. If you can't beat 'em, might as well join 'em. Athos never did listen with that thick skull of his.

Athos mockingly offered the drink she already obtained. "Drink?"

She chanted with empty meaning, "Warm my belly and soothe my brain," Low beats of sloshing liquid were heard. Antoinette drummed her fingers impatiently on the table. Athos conversed only with the liquid burning in his throat. Her palm covered her heavy head with an elbow kept on unlady-like on the table. "Is this routine? You have an off day and then drink away your troubles to the bottom?"

His seemingly soul less eyes lit when turned away from the bottle. Half of a smile worked it way around his mouth. "Not always. Sometimes on good days as well," He didn't bother to laugh.

She bit her lip, debating whether she should tell of the sighting at the palace. He didn't have to know, but he had a right. To harm or to protect- the resuls would surely self destruct him to the bar for the next month. The guilt ate away at her stomach. Finally she blurted gracelessly, "I saw her,"

Athos eyebrows jumped at Antoinette's shaky voice. But nothing on his face other than that read concern or care. The grip on the bottle stretched the skin on his knuckles until he had to let go. From sudden shift of center, the drink tipped to the side and spilt a small puddle of amber slosh. Athos didn't care to react. "She was at the palace,"

He narrowed his eyes, "Guards will never catch her. Not as an emissary," Athos might as well spat the words to the floor as he swung his head back to clear his head. His mood rang through the panic alarm in Antoinette's head. She suspected this sudden flash of behavior. She teased it and it flared with a venegance. Only now she had to withdraw the information to calm him. Elsewhere, he would destroy himself with curiosity.

Antoinette cocked her shoulder to the armrest. "I don't think she's allied to Buckingham. We all know her true colors," Her words whispered irritatingly in Athos' ears. He covered a hand over one before grabbing Antoinette's drink out of her right hand. Her fingers that held nothing but air retreated to her lap.

With no forewarning he muttered coherently, "Black as her soul," She knew he never meant those words. The drink took care of that. Deep in his slippery heart he still attained a part of him to Milady. However small that shard was, it refused to detach or surface through his emotions.

Her chest heaved with a raging bull of emotions. Hardly resisting, she asked, "What she did was regretable and unforgivable. But don't you think forgetting the past can open you to the future?"

Filled with anger and small regret, Athos laced his words together like a play. He firsted started with an orchestra to set the mood. "Antoinette, you haven't broken. Your heart hasn't been torn in half, cut out of your chest and hand delivered to the most vile villain in all of Europe," Second he delivered a few words to open up the curtain, "You have him. I once had her," Seeing her taken back, he sighed. "What's done is done," He blew into the bottle.

Never had she met a more stubborn man than her father. Athos failed to realize winning and losing came with sacrifice. You gain and you give. He was so determinated to continuously drown whatever emotion he came across. Antoinette stood up, head aching from her friend's stupidity. "Alright, Shakespeare, but this is only the first act," she waved a finger at him.

As a friend she supported those she loved the most. But she couldn't help without a little cooperation. Stubborn or headstrong, Athos needed to come to terms he was a flawed human being such as herself with imperfections as obvious as a red stain against a white blouse. Whether or not he had lost the unofficial most hated double crosser of the era, he could be in a much better place.

"I may have only loved but I did lose some things from Venice, Athos. As uncomparable they are to whatever lies in the liquor you bathe yourself in, I had hope a day would come when all of us wold be reunited," She drew her chair behind her and stole his bottle away. Athos did not struggle but mewled a quiet groan as the glass cascaded into thousands of pieces against the ash covered grate. She looked down to him pitifully. "Unfortunately that day hasn't come yet,"

She left Athos in his muddled and hopefully sobering thoughts.

* * *

The next day, Antoinette had yet to clean again. It did not take long for these boys to make a mess. Planchet mostly. And perhaps Porthos. But only on Fridays and Mondays. Yesterday just so happened to be Friday.

Aramis had continued his job for the city only until noon. Just enough time to see his lady finish her housework. Tired and worn, he guided her back to sleep. He had known living with them once more was an out of body experience. Being lavished at the palace, sitting with dukes and baronesses was nothing compared to three rowdy ex-Musketeers and one pudgy servant man.

He let her rest. Aramis enjoyed reading some passages from his pocketbook, occasionally giving into his desired eyes to watch her in her sleep. Curled up to her left side, she found comfort in her sheets and pillow close to her arms. He sighed contently.

His muse, the reason for diverting him back onto the rightful path, sleeped soundly. It was one of those rare times where he could see how breakable she really was. Rarely did just anyone could see the darker side of her. He remembered the first time he had seen that side.

She had tried to push him away when she had mourned her mother the year after her death. Aramis had promised her they would find a time to visit Notre Dame. To the exact same spot Antoinette had retold many time at the alter where she had imagined a ghost of her mother's spirit. It left her restless for many months after their visit. And then the cold came, the dark days crept back to her when her father and mother argued in front of her. The day she first noticed her bruises. The day she found her father spend time in _their_ room with another woman half draped over him. And finally the hazy memory of her father pushing her down the stairs and the concussion that led to it.

Her nightmares grew worse when she bottled up her emotions. It took the lot of them, even Milady to console her. Her eyes had finally opened up when Aramis promised he would stay.

Not just on that night. But to be there for her. Ever since then, whenever the opportunity arose, he guarded her in her sleep. Watching out for any quirks that showed that dark side.

He smiled to himself as she tossed back to the other side with a lazy smile drawn. With a careful eye, he returned back to the book, hovering over the book to watch over her. As her guardian angel.

"Delicious pot roast, Antoinette," D'Artagnan commented at the melt-in-your-mouth food on his plate. Steam and the au jus dripped in a puddle around the savory meats and soft vegetables.

She smiled with her eyes. "Thank you, D'Artagnan. It is by our lucky stars someone was raised to clean and take care of oneself. I cringe at the thought of eating pigsty food," She pointedly narrowed her eyes at a certain person at the table with a smirk.

Porthos pretended to cough. "Planchet,"

Planchet, hearty and ready to be spiked, laughed good naturedly. "Yes, sirs and lady. Good sport, sir," He faked the usual smile.

"So what next? Surely you couldn't return to your old lives with the King's fortune?" D'Artagnan asked with a handful of bread in his grip.

Porthos chugged down a carrot with wine poured in. "Might invest a little at the shipyards,"

Athos narrowed, "Just as I will 'invest' the stock at the bars,"

Antoinette put a finger to her chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps I shall renovate the park districts. Flowers aren't as blooming as I would like them,"

Besides her, Aramis chortled, "With enough to support the house, faculty, and a slice to the Church, I'll quit my day job,"

Looking around unbelieving, D'Artagnan noisly dropped his fork utnesil. "That's it? You have new clothes and money! You are the Musketeers! You could do whatever you wish to," he raised his voice.

Around her side, he sighed, "But without honor, a name is only a name. Respects cannot be handed out by one action alone," The gloomy bunch stopped the clattering of food and gulps of wine to the quiet clinking of knives and plates touching forks.

Not wanting to receive a lashing for despairing moods from his masters, Planchet cried, "Cheer up sirs! I have in store a reserved bottle for such dreary occasions. Boys down the block promised me a beauty in this one," He bustled out out of the room to gather the prized un-special bottle of liquor.

Athos, knowing of Planchet's habits to bargain shop, huffed, "Oh no, what did you trade?"

Planchet sniffled his nose in retailiation. "I thought it a good deal!" he defended. "Ten blocks of cheese. Fair price in my mind," Planchet smiled to himself proudly.

Antoinette asked for the alcohol. She inspected the neck and the labeling. Not nearly as satisfied, she uncorked the thing and sniffed. Her nose inhaled something as foul as the sewer. She coughed rapidly. "Yes, if you wished to drink river water," she barely managed out.

Porthos took the bottle from his hand and took a whiff. He ripped the label off the rip off fake. To his anger he pulverished the glass into the burning embers. It roared in retailiation. "Planchet!" he roared.

Planchet fumbled with his fingers. Sweat emerged on his brow. Porthos, wanting to foam at the mouth like a rabid dog, smashed his fist at the table, leering at the bumbling buffoon. Sad to the tears, Planchet defended, "How was I suppose to know? It's in a bottle with a label!"

D'Artagnan inspected the labeling wet from the old bottle, as it now resided in it's personal hell. "Is that date suppose to be chicken scratch?" He wiped a finger on his shirt from the slimy film.

Porthos yelled, "Label is a fake and now we will starve without drink. Off with you!" The manservant jumped two feet in the air before cowardly reverting to the corner. Athos rolled his eyes as Aramis shook his head in a hand. Porthos, refusing to let go the anger when Antoinette produced a safe and secured original chardonnay from three decades passed.

From a certain distance in the dusty corners, could you hear the incoherent curses coming from the stupified man. "Rowdy bastards," Planchet flicked a bowl from the counter top, which he misjudged the distance ending the bowl's existence into pieces on the unswept floor. Planchet looked from all around to his masters for any maddening looks. He kicked the broken porcelain underneath the rug he stood upon, guilty blushing his face.

Antoinette, not bothering to correct Planchet for his carelessness for the breakage of another china piece, uncorked the bottle and handed it to Porthos. "Can't be the end of the world,"

Porthos slid the liquid down with a haste. "Has to be. At least Jesus had a decent last supper," His grimace showered over the dismal display of food prepared for the evening meal.

Aramis dented a piece of the table with the cut of the knife. His glare pierced Porthos. "Do not defile the Lord's son in comparision," he muttered.

Antoinette patted her lover's curling fist around the stabbing knife. "Oh, Aramis. You should learn by now he's always grumpy when he provokes religion," she lectured as she scooped some steamed vegetables onto both of their plates. Aramis let go of the knife once Antoinette wrapped her hand in his.

The company, slightly miffed, enjoyed the clinging of cutlery as they laughed and ate the little food made for each of them. Peace and tranquility circled the troupe, that was until Planchet quirked his head inside the room.

"Oy!" he announced noisily. "We have company!" He pointed to a fleeing figurine running down the street in a befuddling state.

Athos, quick to play with his temper, snarled, "Then go get it, Planchet,"

Crinkling his nose, Planchet hurried off to the front door. He met halfway when the incessant pounding came from the other side of the door. Aramis grabbed for Antoinette's hand in a flash. She glanced at him, the same question written on their faces.

"Coming, coming! Hold your horses!" cried Planchet He opened the door to the stranger without authetication of the unexpected visitor. "It's not a matter of life or death, you know?" he belly-ached.

A familiar feminine voice pitched, "Actually, it is,"

Her recognition hit her like a box of boulders. Antoinette dropped a forkful of chicken meat as she whizzed her head to meet the no longer hooded stranger. "Constance?"

Constance nodded her presence to the quizzical Antoinette. She turned from the strange man leaning towards her to the familiar faces of the Musketeers. "Might I have a word with D'Artagnan. It's of the utmost importance and national security," she urged.

D'Artagnan did wait a moment to lose. He tucked Constance to the side away from the grinning Planchet and the eavesdropping men and lady around the table. Porthos frowned. He pushed the plate away to dunk his bread in the olive oil.

"Why weren't we summoned?" he asked his companions.

Aramis turned his head. "Jussac can only go so fast on his steed,"

Athos humbled a laugh. His suspicious eyes wavered over to the two before settling on the half cut up food on his place. He chucked the knife and fork into the meat. "Whatever it is, I don't like it," he voiced.

Antoinette drawled over her cup of wine, "You never like anything besides beer, bars, and brawls,"

He pointed his knife like a finger. "You forgot Yuletide,"

"What's the difference?"

Porthos listed off, "Free alcohol, empty bars, and on occasion jolly fights," He smiled with hidden joy. Antoinette smiled at her friend imitating a rousing fight during the season times when she unmistakeningly caught D'Artagnan, voice raising, speaking incredibly towards Constance.

"...You want me to go to England, retrieve the diamonds which the Queen has suspicions might be in Buckingham's possesion, which will naturally involve breaking into some heavily fortified, highly impregnable facility?" Antoinette's interest in talking or engaging any activity around her- including the kneading pressure from Aramis' hand- escaped her. As she was closest, she occupied her time keening out of the closest conversation from loud Porthos to the delicate mousy voice she had grown accustomed to.

"The Tower of London. Since the Cardinal's spies are trying to implicate the Duke. It's the most logical choice,"

Antoinette's mind reeled. Something wasn't right. In no right mind would Constance suggest of all people to retrieve something in the Tower of London- the most dangerous fortress to encounter- and make it back over the Channel in one piece. What was so important? Who would be messing with Lord Buckingham?

Several possibilites entered her train of thought. First there was Cardinal Richelieu. His thirst for fresh power and hunger for continental domination never sated. Along with Rochefort and the witless Captain Jussac, his spies and armed forces would penetrate the barricades any Englishman put up. However it did not add up. Be it, Buckingham had control over the Tower of London and housed torturous dungeons not even the strongest man alive could surpass a night.

The second and final choice steamed her insides. A mere thought boiled her anger into a hot flash. She gazed at Athos, ever resilient, but kept a wavering turn to the conversation between the two youths.

Her eyes flickered over to Porthos. His brow furrowed at Antoinette's intense staring. A hand clamped over hers, as she nodded towards D'Artagnan shaking his head bewildered.

"...Then return to Paris with every soldier, assassin, mercenary, bounty hunter, on both sides of the Channel out to stop me from doing so,"

Porthos caught the drift of words and turned pointedly to his fellow Musketeers. "When he puts it like that, he makes it more like a chore than fun,"

"Did I miss anything?" D'Artagnan cut across abruptly.

Constance bit her lip. "All in five days,"

Antoinette patted her hand against Aramis. They briefly glanced at the youngsters before boring eyes against each other. Five days from now. The King had declared a magnificent ball in his wife's name. Five days from now, something would destroy that.

Aramis dug in the tip of his dagger in hand, poised into the skin of the wood. His eyes wavered over his comrades. "Whatever they are whispering about sounds like another mission," The dagger deepened in irritation. Splinters of wood chipped around it. Antoinette released his hand from the pressure of the handle.

All around the table, she felt mixed emotions. As the coin of call thumped each Musketeer, Antoinette drew the connections that bound them to honour and duty. Aramis' silence spoke thousands of words. His loyalty to his past life proved penance to his future in the trio. She knew he would never reject the call. Not even to save his life.

She drew a deep breath. Just when God had shone on her, a cloud in the shape of Richelieu's sneer darkened her hope. So far in her life clouds seemed to always block the sun, the brillant everlasting ray. If it were up to her...

Her thoughts interrupted by Athos' pertruding words. "The good thing about being semi-employed is we chose our own cliental," He relieved some of the tension in the group. However smaller the air was, Antoinette's ears rang in their incoming upheaval.

"A minor detail. Anything else?"

Constance's mouthed, "No,"

She glanced at D'Artagnan. "Well, I really have one question for you. Why in the world would I do that?" Almost predictable, Constance snuck in a quick kiss. Antoinette blushed for looking upon their private moment. Once, she had been like Constance. Impetuous, quick, cut, and clean. Her ways had changed overnight, tossing and turning remembering her peculiar conversation with the priest.

D'Artagnan's eyes widened but his mouth jumped to his dimples. "England it is," He decided.

Porthos huffed his laughter. He casually punched Aramis, whom owned a small corner of a smile. He leered, "Aramis,"

He scoffed, "She wasn't that persuasive,"

Antoinette turned her head on the point. "What?"

Noticing a short shiver pass over he replied, "Nothing,"

She rolled her eyes. "Uh huh,"

The young man with Constance in tow, stood behind an empty chair gazing at his questioning peers.

He summed up, "Okay. Diamonds, Buckingham, Tower of London, five days, Queen's reputation and the fate of France as we know it. Who's with me?"

Antoinette's chest sighed as she pieced them together. Milady. She was there in the Queen's wing. Where if she knew her ways, she could stumble upon the Queen's diamonds in the vault. Milady was an agent of deception. She never left any mess or stood behind lines. She made the lines.

If Milady were aligned with the Cardinal, she would be double crossing him. Therefore she would pass over the diamonds to Buckingham, ruin the Queen's reputation, maybe in the end keep the diamonds as a spoil of impending war.

How diabolic.

Not a person whispered opinions. It was to be suspected. The window was limited, and this mission was arrived in a hushed fashion without the opportunity to prepare.

Porthos, however, wanted to rally the old troop. He whisked his old cane into the air. "Well, I should imagine the Queen would be quite generous. Count Porthos. Hmm? What do you think? Got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" he asked all around playfully swinging the cane around his fingers. He pointed out, "Besides, I hear the English women are a lot like a frosted bottle of champagne. Ice on the outside, but once you warm them up..." His eyebrows wiggled suggestively.

Antoinette smacked a hand to her forehead at his silly behavior. Meanwhile her beloved Aramis grumbled under her breath. He stood up to recieve wrapped parcels concealing their emergency weaponry.

"This isn't a great cause, but it'll have to do," Aramis counted himself in. He averted his eyes to Antoinette who nodded fiercely. The Queen was her friend; friends depend on one another in times of need.

Planchet's hand barely touched the loaded rifle when Porthos smacked his hand in retailation. He cried out his pain as he rubbed the numb mark.

Athos leaned over the table, eyeing Antoinette only once. "Buckingham's there, so is she,"

The curious teen asked foolishly, "Who?"

All around the table Antoinette and the men stiffened. Their eyes made their way to Athos.

"Comtesse de Winter," he answered. "Charlotte Backson. Anne de Breuil. Lady Clarick. Milady," As he numbered out the names without hesitation, it was crystal clear his voice hid the pain and foggy anger.

"Milady? I know her," D'Artagnan said. "I saw her with Rochefort,"

Porthos confirmed, "She's switched sides again. She's working for the Cardinal, no doubt,"

Constance asked Antoinette, "Wasn't she the one you told the guards?"

Antoinette narrowed her eyes to the table of weapons. Her mind filled with ideas and ways to rid of Milady if she were only as predictable as D'Artagnan. "Wasn't to capture her. Just to divert her attention long enough," Too many memories of Venice played, reversed, and then replayed unkindly. "If she knew I was there, she would never allow me to leave the palace," She traced a finger around the trigger of a gun.

D'Artagnan asked, "What will you do if you catch her?"

They won't. She's too cunning and conniving. Even if the slightest chance they would, Athos wouldn't allow any harm come to her. His once love outmatched any venegance he stored. His conscience would blame him if she were caught and outbeat.

And then the peace altogether shattered. By an idiot.

A loud hoarse voice that could only be Jussac yelled from below the streets. "Musketeers, open up and surrender by order of the Cardinal!" Antoinette and Constance visibly jumped out of their skin from the intrusion. A hand clutched her racing heart.

"Lady de Lorraine, you are under arrest for false pretenses of leaving the vicinity by order of the Cardinal!"

Aramis glared at D'Artagnan and his new companion/girlfriend. "You were followed," he growled, hand fastened on Antoinette's shaky shoulder.

Athos glanced out the window. "It's Rochefort,"

One by one, Rochefort's thick cords lashed out their names. "Athos, Porthos, Aramis, D'Artagnan, and Antoinette, surrender your weapons and no harm will come to you,"

"False," she said rushing to the window with Athos. No doubt there was Rochefort and his neanderthall team of guards upon horses with lit torches.

Athos ordered, "Damn. To the horses!"

In action, Antoinette helped roll the weapons with Porthos. Aramis grabbed the other parcels and stuffed as much necessary tools for the journey.

Over the disarray, D'Artagnan called, "Planchet! Get the weapons. Constance, follow!"

Tucked in the foldings of her skirts, Antoinette felt Aramis slip two knifes, and a cocked gun. He grabbed her around the waist to sieze her attention. "Antoinette. Just in case," His husky voice reverbrated.

She smirked as he kissed her longingly. "I hate being safe,"

He eyed her. "Not when it comes to Rochefort, you don't,"

She rolled her eyes, continuing her work of fastening the straps as she flew down the stairs and to the secret door to the stable.

"I'll count to FIVE and then we'll BURN you out!"

Antoinette bit down on the leather and pulled at the stubborn knot on the pack. "Planchet! Improvise!" she yelled. Planchet nodded before rummaging around for something.

"One! Two Three-" A sickening splash could be heard along with a disgusting odor curled down to the already smelly barnyard.

Planchet shouted from above their heads. "Oh! Sorry! Didn't see you there!" They could only guess what Planchet had used as a distraction. Antoinette pretended to gag as she untethered her horses.

Constance's nose crinkled. "Foul,"

Athos laughed heartily. "Do you have any other suggestions?"

Jussac cursed loudly, "Damn you!"

Antoinette latched a foot around Rosemary. She situated the supplies on behind before handling the bridle. She comforted the jumpy horse. Antoinette whispered soothing words to hold ground while they awaited Athos' commands. Aramis marched his horse besides her, with his hat on top of his head. She smiled at him as he grasped for her hand. A quick kiss on top of it and a snatch from his head- Aramis glared as Antoinette cheesily wore the hat.

He took it back erupting Antoinette into a fit of giggles.

"Now!" Athos called.

"Fire!" She had heard. Rosemary raced out of the doors along with the others. The troops diverted from the horses' path in the opposite direction. Antoinette dug her heel into Rosemary's skin.

On response, she and her horse outran the speed of the bullets in their course. Her few out of place hair strands billowed in the wind like weeping willows miles and miles away from Paris. They followed the streets until the horses' prints hit the rough gravely dirt of the country roads. Into the night they road on.

And road on did they run. Just enough time for Antoinette to think of interesting ways to kill Buckingham and the Cardinal.

* * *

**My goodness! So so sorry for not posting this sooner. Not much to talk about this chapter other than fill you in more of Antoinette's background and her guarded attitude. I just realized that the chapters may be a little slower on schedule because I have so many extra scenes to do and figure out that it will take forever and a couple days to process them out on the drawing board.**

**I do admit this chapter is not one of my best chapters but I do try.**

**Oh! And I've hit over 50,000 words. :D Probably the only story on this section to do so. So proud for doing that :) Maybe it will spark some other authors to write some more of The Three Musketeers fanfiction :)))**

**Until next time!**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Sea Sick

**Athos: Porthos and Antoinette were up to one of there tricks but it backfired and landed them with migraines so you have the pleasure to hear from me today.**

**Fangirls: YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAY!**

**Athos: -clears throat- Ladies.**

**Fangirls: -silenced-**

**Athos: As I was saying-**

**Antoinette: Ugh, what did I do last night.**

**Porthos: -giggling incessantly- HAHA! You said "do".**

**Antoinette: You're drunk.**

**Porthos: -still laughing- And you need to get laid, my friend.**

**Athos: -clears throat-**

**Porthos and Antoinette: -silenced-**

**Athos: I think it would be obvious by now radiolover1029 does not own anything or anyone entitled to this section except for the also obvious own designs.**

**Porthos: You! Use too many words, Athos.**

**Athos: It's called intelligence. Spell it.**

**Porthos: Ha! I-T! Can't be fooled!**

**Antoinette: -goes back to bed- I've had enough brain damage for one night.**

**Athos: At ease, Captain Obvious.**

**Antoinette: Aye-aye Lt. Sarcasm.**

**Porthos: Sarcasm- definition: words designed to HURT, Antoinette!**

**Me: Oh, brother. On with the chapter! Quickly!**

* * *

**Calais**

The quickest way from France to England was by Port Calais. On it's northern borders and the narrowest point in the English Channel, the town of Calais has been rich for inheriting English delights and trading for French staples such as tin and wool. Salty sea wretches swear upon the lives of their mothers on the clearest of days the White Cliffs of Dover could be seen from the edge of their trading docks.

Shipyards are painted in wooden glory. Hailing from all over the two countries were men of trade and most revered marksmen. It wasn't a pleasant place to soak in the Channel's waters on their own. In fact, a non-experienced Channel sailor would drown in his step even on the calmest tide.

The villages connected to the long windy road of the merchant's cobblestoned pavement. And then finally from the marketplaces drew the beginning of the sea bearing estates floating on crystal blue water. Smoke would rise from small encampments from lit cigars and the heavy air of tuna mixed with port wine.

Cargo holds stacked what seemed to be a mile high in hefty baggage to protect the precious insides. Ropes ran along as a safe line for those with the tad bit of hesitant sea waves syndrome. Oddly enough, amongst the sailors and bracing captains at wheel, were French soldiers on horseback, meandering through the shipyards for six wanted fugitives.

Jussac on his white, dumpy steed narrowed his eye at the horizon for any sign of the culprits. A weather eye to his left and right, brought the trio of guards inspecting papers and throwing them back quickly. The process was slow but surely would turn out effective.

The Captain puffed out his chest envisioning clapping iron clads around Athos and his band of ruffians. It would bring him shining pounds of money and dignity after their last foolhardy attempt. No matter! He would best them. One way or another.

Hard to believe they were right under his nose, he failed to spot two creeping shadows back to back.

Antoinette hid herself from view thanks to a cool alley. The hot day broiled her cheeks bright pink. Pulling back the slightly damps curls from her collar bone, she looked to and fro with her companion for any signs of detection.

Right by her ear, he casually whispered, "Happy now?" The hot steam rolled back to her neck. "You wanted to travel and by the fates they have cursed us to the sea," Her neck turned in closer to the shady, cold stone walls they backed up to.

She lazily rolled her head to him. "Yeah, as soon as we return I'm going to have a serious conversation in confession," A smirk she wore disappeared seeing Aramis' upsetting grin. Banter was his ability but something told Antoinette otherwise to joke about. She eyed his unsteady posture. She huffed to her side. "By all means, this doesn't make me one bit happy,"

Aramis observed her stiff figure lean into his arm. "We're out of Paris," He quirked an eyebrow. Was that not what she had asked for days ago?

Sarcastically, she said, "Keen eye," She didn't bother to fix a lonesome curl brushing her right shoulder. Her features softened. "Not with a purpose," Her eyes cast down and then refocused to the yards. Antoinette changed the topic. "We could get a better range upon the ship dockyards," Her point of range was engraved in Aramis' brain before they stealthed with the shadows. His feathered black hat covered the brim of his eyes and his cape covered his Antoinette's figure to the best he could in daytime.

His nose crinkled. The odd scent of unbaked tuna rolled his stomach. It was wonderous how sailors could attempt to eat uncooked fish and not deposit their stomach linings, staining the blue water. "And risk with the fish people?"

"That ledge will do," She climbed the small set of stairs where a small unkept balcony full of bird droppings decorated the walk area. Cargo holds were already stacked almost to the balcony itself. Giving them a 270 degrees view of the docks and the patrol guards they must get past.

Aramis relied on his eyes to report the damage. "Two guards at every post. One at plank. Two more with Jussac,"

She sighed. "With these odds, I'll fold. Where's the closest outpost with sails?" Perhaps somewhere else on the narrow end could better there chances without the idiot promoter prowling around.

Aramis asked, "Pirated or legal?"

As far as anyone else knew, the next port would be half a day's ride, not to mention the amount of time to convince a sailor to board the ship and reach the Tower with reasonable spare time. At least Athos knew a few people up North to procure a ready crew that sailed with them beforehand.

Antoinette stomped her irritation. "Might as well make haul from Spain," She nearly spat out.

Aramis, unsure what to do, gave a hesitant sigh. His hands moved to pull her closer, but resisted. Her mood would not likely improve on spot. Licking his lips, he said, "Are you not happy here? Well, here as in Paris?" His eyes disengaged with the obstacles for a hair of a second.

Antoinette chuckled inside. What could cause him to ask such a thing? Her smile resonated. "I'm always happy to be with you and our friends," And then she looked at his hopeful dark eyes and found the reason why she might have been unhappy to begin with. Her descending smile embarassed her. "However it doesn't change anything. We still live all together, with semi-decent honor that might change in four days and a trip across the Channel,"

Aramis did not look at her. Rather he looked to the sky and then to the ship they had chosen to watch for. He wasn't used to showing any emotion that was unnecessary. But for once, he didn't know which emotion to show or to hide. Lately, his befuddled mind thought upon a glimmer of hope, the next, he cast it aside as if... As if the thought scared him. Him! The brave and illusive Aramis, a Musketeer for St. Peter's sake! Confusing as it is, he dared to push the boundaries to think upon it once more.

"One day we'll go. As far away wherever God takes us. We'll sail the seas, explore the world,"

He thought of summer breezes. The lilies would be just in bloom and the sun begun to dazzle white speckles in grave settings. He imagined ribbons intertwined and a bottle of the finest mead in barrels as wide as a man's wingspan. He dallied upon rounds of applauses and grassy hills with a rousing chorus of French violins filling the atmosphere. That one warm breeze would surround him his entire life while the sun shone on. Even when the darkness came, it would be his night the sun came up. What more could he have wanted?

He knew. Boards of wood hauled by the sweat of a Frenchman's brow. Tooth and nail worked hard and long until it was complete. The encased construction would bellow a new generation. A couple of paired smaller feet rebounding the sound of wood to echo in the halls. Light filled it with warmth and surprise. A steady place of peace and eternal rejuvenation.

And then something shattered it. He had remembered. This wasn't the dream he had visioned for months on end. This was Calais. He wasn't surrounded by laughter and music. Rather, the smell of booze and fish and bit of pipe tobacco. The only comparision was the company he desired, was only half way there.

Antoinette broke his concentration, trying to recapture that dream just once more. "One day as in your elongated retirement?" she questioned with a frame of sadness.

Instead of a yes or no, he dared to pull her closer underneath his hat. Their eyes met, and one on the outside would have dreamt them as non-existent in the real world.

"One day soon. I promise you,"

He pulled away to walk off to their other companions. Antoinette, stunned, watched him move away slyly.

She clutched her curls to move them in the back. She murmured to herself, "That doesn't help whatsoever,"

The two returned to their companions, who remained on high alert off to the side.

"Jussac and a lot of help. There's no way past," Aramis reported, tucking Antoinette close to him when he had seen a guard eyed their general direction. Antoinette froze and instantly melted when the stupendous guard returned over to his original post.

Porthos waved a hand over his nearly bald head. He grumbled, "How the hell did he get here so fast?"

Antoinette fixed her sleeves drooping down. "I feel sorry for the five ponies he's injured," she said nonchalantly.

D'Artagnan kept close to Constance, whom was the only one in the group uneasy. Wouldn't mind her fears: escaping the castle, riding off in the dead of night with wanted vigiliants and now at their most difficult task yet. "Now what?"

Athos made a fist in his concentration. He had studied the changing of the men while Aramis and Antoinette looked for weak vantage points. "We need a distraction,"

Antoinette offered, "I'll go,"

Her lover retracted her submission. "I'll go," he said defiant to her wishes.

Porthos, out of the loop, thought what the hell. "I'll go,"

From nowhere a pip squeak voice called over the huddled group. "I could go," Planchet smiled. Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan stared down at him weirdly. Antoinette and Constance shared a look and shrugged. Feeling the heat of their glares, Planchet stepped away. "Probably not,"

Constance huffed. This was getting them nowhere. Why she had signed up to join them was beyond her. Oh wait- she didn't. She was a lady in waiting, not a street fighter. Obviously her skills were nothing compared to Antoinette. It wouldn't do any of them good- even D'Artagnan- if they carried around dead weight.

"Wrong," she said. The group turned towards her surprised at her confidence wavering in her voice. "Wrong on all counts. You'll need every sword where you're going. I can't help you there, but I can help. Right here, right now,"

Besides her, D'Artagnan did not look happy. In fact he was almost petrified with fear. One day he was asked by a beautiful lady to help her and the QUeen and with a promising kiss; the next she offered her head on the guillotine.

"If they catch you..." D'Artagnan paused.

She shook her head. "They won't,"

For emphasis D'Artagnan repeated, "If they catch you-"

Antoinette noticed Constance was in no mood to back out what she had already drawn. A year ago, young Constance would have never dreamt to aid and abed wrongly accused criminals on a dangerous mission. The most danger she had occured in was when she had pricked her finger on a needle pulling thread through. Antoinette could not help but feel a small part of her feel pride. The same pride she had once experienced when she truly became independent from her father.

"I'm the Queen's lady-in-waiting. You, on the other hand, are a wanted fugitive, and about to steal from the most powerful man in England. Which one of us should be worried?" Concern etched on her brow. D'Artagnan's eyes glowed over at Constance; a woman readily sacrificing herself for the love of her new friends.

A tinge of a smile crept up Aramis' stoic face. He leaned down to Antoinette. "Remind you?" he whispered huskliy. She had felt the blushing red stain her cheeks as her eyes muddled over yester years.

D'Artagnan took his window of opportunity to kiss Constance once more. Antoinette had always wondered what they had looked like as a couple. She could finally see that love spark between the couple. On the outside looking in, she blushed once more feeling the moment was too private to look upon.

"Go. Go so that you can come back," Constance asked of him. His smile of reassurance sent waves of relief between the two of them.

"Were we ever that sappy?" she asked to herself. Aramis drew her in and kissed her forehead lovingly as his answer.

At the same time, a semi-annoyed/semi-snickering Athos and Porthos responded, "Yes,"

She crinkled her nose, "Touchy,"

Constance's smile turned into a smirk. She eyed D'Artagnan's hat. "Now give me that hat,"

The plan was put to action. Constance would hide her appearance in men's clothes, shielding away possible reference she would draw herself as a woman. Antoinette slipped her hair underneath D'Artagnan's concelaing hat. The collar of his jacket popped open to hide the feminine blush she applied yesterday. When the transformation was complete, D'Artagnan painstakingly watched from the thatch opening of an alley behind the cargo hold, his Constance ride in open daylight.

She rode on Buttercup, exposing the fact to the guards plainly. Jussac was snared from the start and confirmed his suspicions when the hooligan's dark eyes gazed at him before rearing the creature underneath.

"D'Artagnan!" he yelled for his subordinates. He whistled to the other men on horses to square him up before he rode past the gates. "Get after him!" his coarse voice commanded. Five or six guardsmen rode on after their prey.

D'Artagnan waited for the last lame soldier to disappear around the corner before kicking down the thatch disguise. From behind him, the men and lady followed quickly to the docks. Time was of the essence.

Dragging behind was a top heavy Planchet, carrying all the supplies in well organized bundles strapped to his person and suitcases. "Wait!" he cried heaving the luggage with him to the best of his fat legs could carry him.

* * *

The good captain allowed the entire bottom deck and board to the Musketeers. Rent wasn't as cheap as the other times they sailed on the vessel, but this time-sensitive issue could handle a few minor speedbumps. They sailed as soon as the tide allowed them.

The rocky waves known in the Channel were perilious but not too unfamiliar to the quartet. At the very least they had found reasonable transportation that would have normally taken hours to find theirselves sailors or pirates to take wanted men upon a fill-in-the-blanks mission.

However Porthos, cheerful and pleasant, found disdain in traveling seaside. Only for one particular reason...

"At the very least they could have spared three cabin rooms! Cheap bastards," he complained in the galleyway. Planchet wheezed on a bench regaining any blood left pumping through his back and legs. To his sides were Athos and D'Artagnan inspecting their belongings, and replacing the packages onto the tables to be sorted. Most concealed weaponry that need not be used until the morrow. But not Musketeer slept without a knife or half cocked barrel under his pillow.

D'Artagnan watched his fellow companion. "Why? For them?" He nodded to a queasy Antoinette clutching her stomach with Aramis rubbing her back affectionately.

Athos took a bite out of the unloaded bread. "Mostly for her," he gestured. "Antoinette has a... sensitive stomach when it comes to sea travel,"

A big wave crashed the boat into a series of rocking side to side until the bottom leveled out again. Antoinette clawed at her stomach; this time nearly keeling over to touch her knees to her head.

In random spasms, her back locked up and she needingly searched for comfort with both parts of her body out of it's normal statue. "Why's the floor moving? Make it stop!" Her head banged and clattered like Planchet moving through a porcelain shop.

Aramis drew her legs and her lower half closer to him on the bench against the wall. He rubbed her back kneading the knots out. He kissed her slightly damp hair.

"We're on a boat, love,"

Antoinette felt another bout of uneasiness surging from the bottom of the boat. "Oh, I don't feel well," Her skin blanched.

Soothingly, Aramis remained calm. "It's alright," That was until he worriedly called out for the only man to yell at. "Planchet!"

The ditzy man, half-asleep, scuttled down the hallway. "Yes! A bottle for the miss! Coming right up!" He hastened to the galleyway for some ailment for the sickly lady.

D'Artagnan knew he wasn't a homely person when it came to house work or any type of wife duty. Although he did know enough to keep his head on his shoulders and his tie on his pants drawn, he had no reconcilation with remedies for common sickness other than the few times he was ill in Gascony.

"Alcohol?" he questioned. Being drunk wouldn't help but make her retch her entire stomach's contents all over the deck. "Wouldn't that make it worse?" He subconsciously took three steps away from the heavy-lidded Antoinette whose hair was drawn back and with a bucket in her hands if she were to throw up. Aramis held her against him, not afraid of vomit or it's stench.

"No," Athos said handing the uncorked bottle from Planchet to Aramis. He coaxed the bucket out of her prying hands long enough to replace it.

Porthos laughed to himself. "On the contrary, it's the best side of her we've ever seen of her. Be lucky you weren't here the first time when we learned the hard way. Last night's mussels and oysters spewed all over the place," He and D'Artagnan inwardly cringed at the tale telling.

Antoinette sipped daintly at the bottle, testing her throat. She glared pitifully at Porthos over the rim. "If I were five inches taller and feet planted firmly on the ground, I would challenge you," Her stomach grumbled again. She took to the bottle again in a rush.

Porthos replied, "Whatever keeps the pot roast down. Drink up me hearty!"

"Stop forcing it down my throat, Aramis! I do need to breathe," she said not a minute later when D'Artagnan witnessed a nervous looking Aramis feed her the bottle as she forced the spit in her mouth down her throat haphazardly.

He rolled his eyes at her weary state and held the bottle back in her hands. "Hehe, sorry. Another glass?" he tempted her.

Not a second sooner she dropped the bottle back to his hands and spewed in the bucket of last night's pot roast much to everyone's distaste.

* * *

Antoinette had felt much better when she had thrown up the last bits of whatever gnawed at her stomach. Aramis had to force the alcohol down her throat for two reasons. One, to fizzle down her stomach from eating itself. And two, the smell of course. Not that he didn't mind. On occasion they would take turns taking care of one another. However it was less prefered when using the sea route in Aramis' case.

He almost didn't allow her to attend the the briefing meeting. Almost. She had her ways, and nearly all of them were promises for what she intending on doing as soon as she was setting foot on land again. How could he resist such a scandalous offer?

They now all stood in a private sector of the ship with Athos at it's center. rafter lights and lanterns lit the map of a model of the Tower. He gestured the routes as he explained them in detail.

"The diamonds will be in Buckingham's personal vault, located in the lowest, most secure level of the Tower, next to the crown jewels. The lock is state of the art. It requires a key that Buckingham carries on his person at all times. Corridor leading up to it is booby-trapped," The golden highlighted corridor was mapped out as a sort of danger code.

Three weapons at the corner rested at the curling corners. Antoinette tipped to the side one to gaze at a hidden docking tower a bit more. Planchet arrived in the room with a tray of well refined French baguettes and cheese to accompany the wine bottle. She cringed at the thought of the food. The bottle, though, she would gladly take.

"Oh, I'm glad that's straightforward. Tempt anyone with some bread and cheese, if you..." All looked at him in disbelief. He recognized that look more than anything. "You hadn't finished the briefing, actually. I'm so sorry. Please don't tell me off," he deadpanned.

Athos didn't bother to waste his breath. He continued on, "Then it gets worse, a lot worse. We have to cross three stone walls and a moat. And there's just a couple hundred high trained soldiers with a predilection for not being robbed. Although, since Buckingham undoubtedly knows we're coming, thanks to Milady, that number is likely to be greater,"

D'Artagnan studied the map curiously. His eyes widened in curiosity. "And why can't we just tell Buckingham Milady is plotting against him?"

He sighed reluctantly. It wasn't easy to see her again, let alone know she would be within the same vicinity as him. But he had to stow away all feelings in order to return the Queen's diamonds in their rightful place in Paris. "Because he wouldn't believe us. Why should he? We're his sworn enemies. Besides, Milady would have made sure," He rolled his eyes.

"How?"

Porthos blantantly suggested, "Don't think too hard, lad," He wiggled his eyebrows in effect. Antoinette giggled to herself at his plain lewdness this trip.

Athos snapped something on the board because their attention was brought back to him. He eyed them cautiously. "We can't outshoot them, but we can outsmart them. She knows us. What we look like, how we move, how we think. So, we divide the forces, independent teams, each with our own point of entry to maximize our chances. There's five of us. So we use-"

Planchet interrupted pointedly, "Well, there's six of us, actually, if you..."

In fear of Athos' rage for the second interruption from him, Aramis cleared his throat. Athos cracked a knuckle intimidatingly before pointing a finger at the moat. "As a skilled diver, I take the aquatic route, through the Traitor's Gate,"

"Aramis will undoubtedly rely on agility and stealth. Key in on every tower, every rooftop," Aramis took into depth every nook and cranny where guards were most likely stashed, what point of entry was safest or alternative to drop down, etc.

"Porthos will employ brute strength," Just as his method was crude and unorthodox, Porthos neither cared about studying maps or drawings. He needed only rely on his two hands and a menacing grin to the enemy before they were knocked out.

"Although underestimated, Antoinette will use her charm and wit to capture any guard's attentions only to strike them back," Antoinette thought back to the last mission in Venice. How easily it was to distract the Italian man from his daily doings in order to get what she wanted. This one, however, would prove to be a challenge though. English men weren't as gullible as the guppies in Venice. They were just as cunning and rash as their fellow Frenchmen. She smirked at her new task. It would prove to be fun but extremely difficult.

Aramis commented, "Routine,"

Athos nodded. "That's how it's done. And that's exactly what she'll expect. So we do the unexpected. We go in broad daylight. One man, hiding in plain sight. With all the extra security, there'll be a lot of new faces, that's their weakness,"

Antoinette's curl of a smile frowned. As much as she looked forward to reorganize her tactics, it clearly was not meant to be. Athos directed to D'Artagnan. The youth seemed overwhelmed by the next direction.

"And you, D'Artagnan, you're the wild card. We are the decoys. Now we'll try and create a distraction, keep them occupied, keep them aways from you as much as possible, but, ultimately, it's down to you. You wanted to be a Musketeer? You want to serve France? This is your chance," D'Artagnan heard his words but the message did not seem to sink in.

Antoinette gave the lecture spiel a try. Her hand gripped on the table. "Failure isn't an option," she said getting that straight across. D'Artagnan, taken back, eyed her strangely. "This isn't some match where you bruise an elbow or get a scratch and go home to try again the next day. Your life, from the moment we step on English soil, is in peril. The point of no return possibly,"

"Wow, nice pep talk?" he said sarcastically. The whole point of her monologue was to curtly put it to him life was a tightrope. It could dip down and create a kind of security blanket, allowing every possibility a chance to succeed at. Or if he wasn't careful the rope could slip from underneath and engulf him to his doom.

She wrapped up, "But... Play your strategies to beyond the best of your abilities, and we can succeed. We're counting on you," She smiled warmly at him. D'Artagnan's smirk or grin he usually wore no longer welcomed him. Sunk in as deep as the ocean bottom was understanding. It was etched on his face.

"Alright. I'm interested," he said trying to regain his smog features.

"Good," Athos approved. He clapped his hands together and drew aside some nautical instruments in his hands. "Let's talk costuming,"

Porthos cheered, "Jolly!"

Antoinette gratefully leaned in. "Fabulous, I've been dying to shop for some new things," Her eyes lit up like a child during Yuletide.

Athos' face registered a sly fox. His mouth swallowed down the words and the laughter he had shared with Porthos an hour before Aramis deemed her healthy enough to be out and about. "Actually, what you want and what you need are two different ideals," Porthos struggled to keep his chest booming with laughs.

Confused, she cocked her head. "I'm not following?"

Athos twitched the nautical instrument in his hand to bend out before reaching his other hand out for a piece of cheese from the platter to the side. Through a mouthful, he said, "Let's put it this way. Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Smith for your expecting child!"

Porthos burst out, D'Artagnan and Plancet looked ready to become unsteady from shock, and poor Antoinette chocked on air. Aramis reached the table for stability, unlike tipsy half sober Antoinette who swayed time to time.

"WHAT?" she hollered.

* * *

Planchet was kind enough to leave the spare bottles of frothy drink to Porthos and a sea sick Antoinette before shuffling down the tipsy ship. In the galleyway, at a table for six, Antoinette and Porthos occupied each side of the bench. She waved a fan at her heating body from cold and hot flashes. Another side effect to sea travelling.

Porthos, on the other hand, sat with his legs on the bench and floor, elevating and securing his spot while the ship moved side to side.

"Ha ha!" He pointed a finger accusedly towards his ill mate. "You have to play as an old hag!" His coarse laughter sprang another bout of sickness from her esophagus.

Tired and waiting for the feelings to subside, she cried, "Shut it!" Her head pounded like a mallet. "He only said a local villager who just so happens to be due at any moment," Her fingers stopping fanning and started alternating between rubbing her forehead, clutch the stitches prodding her sides and exhausting heavy sighs.

Porthos took the fan with delight. He aired himself coolly. "Still! The hilarity of it all!" he recalled another laugh.

Antoinette, not in the mood for pins and needles underneath her skin, said, "Do you think I'm looking forward to being fat under my petticoats?" Her voice mixed with strange acidic tastes and sarcasm.

He shook his head no like a child. "Not the least bit," He paused for dramatic effect and a gulp of wine. She allowed her eyes to move circular. "Athos put him in a right state. Did you see his bewildered expression? Ha ha! Oh, the irony," He continued his next few swallows of wine and laughter bubble.

"I don't see the irony. Care to explain?" Antoinette's movement in her stomach stopped. Her eyes lowered to the drink and drank it greedily. Whatever it took to numb the pain, she would take it.

She did, however, manage to remember the look of point blank surprise on Aramis. Like a deer trapped in a hunter's cage. It was up to Antoinette to determine whether his reaction was one of a good thing or a bad thing.

After all, he did mention children not too long ago. But did he meant after marriage? After his career? Most likely he did not expect Athos to word his plan in that direction. That would have to be right, right? Otherwise, it would give off the impression Aramis neither wanted nor desired children... ever.

Of course she had felt that way once upon a time when she had to help act as a mid wife to one of her mother's carefully bred horses deliver a foal. The agony and pain shocked the little 14 year old Antoinette into a hysteria. Right to the point she avoided any contact with the local boys until her mother righted what she had believed hellish torture.

Now older, the mere thought of a child no longer scarred her. But the moment she imagined children of her and Aramis' own _scared_ her. She did not want to end up like her parents. Miserable, uncontent, and above all deranged.

Could she end up with her father's temper? Not likely. Could Aramis turn his stealthy emotions into pure hatred?... She denied it continuously. Aramis would never hit or push her down the stairs like that wretched man. But... It's the ridiculous notion of fear of heights. No one can be afraid of heights... only falling off them. Just the same, Antoinette is not afraid of marriage and children; it's the after effects she dreads.

Porthos put her back to her muddled state of mind. "That the padre managed to do everything backwards in his life? Work for the Church, meeting you, _meeting _you, have a child, etc?" He said suggestively. "What's next? Popping the question?"

Antoinette blew her heightened fear off by laughing nervously. "Oh don't be so ridiculous. Aramis would pop open a bottle of bourbon before ever thinking of asking me in marriage," Her eyes didn't bother to widen. Mentally they were round as saucers, knowing that very well could have been a possibility for her if they weren't too careful...

Porthos wondered, "Why not? Haven't you already lived the married life? What's a slip of paper to any of you?" The beer guzzled down his throat. He twiddled his thumb over the neck of it fondly.

Antoinette shook her head feeling sick again. "Then it would be a total change. We would move out most likely, find a place of our own. Maybe live in my estate. Out of Paris," she mumbled lastly.

He eyed her strangely. He set aside the alcohol to study his drunken lady friend in her mellow seat. "So you're saying, get married, have all the crazy sex you want, and live lavishly out in the grounds? The only flaw I see is me not having a joshing buddy anymore!" he chortled.

"Besides, who said you would live out of Paris? You know you can't stand your father's lands while he's still weezing," He demonstrated her father's set of pipes humorously. "Until that day, wouldn't expect you to live too far away,"

Antoinette asked offended, "You mean to say you don't see Aramis and I travelling?"

He confirmed her suspicions with a nod of the bottle to his mouth. "To a Church, yes. Elsewhere? If it's a mission..." His steady hands gestured so and so. "Antoinette, picking up things and heading off would be much to difficult for Aramis. He needs focus. Work. Something to distract him. And I'm afraid your bosom and legs won't distract him long enough for a trip," His grip loosened on the table.

Antoinette rubbed her nose before covering her mouth with her hand. She drew miscellaneous shapes into the carved wood. "I understand it's hard for him but... He deserves it. Out of the both of us,"

He smiled. "And he's willing to give that up to be with you. Why change the scenery when the scenery is already perfect?"

His compliment eased her. She snuck back the fan from his hands. "You're right. Maybe we won't move far away," she pondered fanning herself. "I'd miss our drunken conversations too much," Her fan directed to the two of them.

He threw back his head and dangling earring in laughter. "I'll drink to that," he decided.

She clinged her tankard jovially with Porthos'. "Cheers,"

* * *

**So I used Milady's speech and twisted it to match the story. Loved writing this chapter. Was so in the mood to write it for some reason :) **

**The peak of writing this: writing Athos' amusing dialogue.**

**The pit: Hmmm... Incorporating the historical references for Calais as well as it's descriptions. It's a shipyard. Not much to go on about it. :P I dread writing about the Tower. You would too if you had to figure out a cunning way for the Musketeers to get from their point in the movie to where they are mysteriously on the boat firing away at Buckingham.**

**Anywho, read on!**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Deploy

**-Pink Panther theme comes on-**

**Antoinette: -in disguise along with me-**

**Me: -whispers- Why are we dressed like this?**

**Antoinette: Because... I stole Athos' favorite wine bottle.**

**Me: Eep! -lowers voice- I mean eep!**

**Antoinette: We can sneak away if we go quietly-**

**Athos: -whispers: Not too quiet, apparently.**

**Antoinette and Me: EEEEPP!**

**Athos: Wine. Now.**

**-hands back-**

**Antoinette: Foiled again!**

**Cardinal: Hey that's my line!**

**Me: Go back to France! You're not suppose to be in England right now!**

**Cardinal: The powers of God can work in mysterious ways, young one.**

**Me: O.o Okay yeah, Antoinette continue.**

**Antoinette: -grumbles- Radiolover1029 does not own the Three Musketeers nor the Pink Panther theme song. Just like I do not own Athos' favorite bottle of wine.**

**Athos: Yep. That reserves to me. Carry on in your reading!**

* * *

Inside the calamity, there was a French merchant's ship nestled in the peaks of the tempermental English waters. Using trade winds and Arabic originated devices to constellate the stars and their seasonal positions, the crew doused the lights when the first beams of rays lit the water. Men sloshed out of their carbuncle to attend the deck, secure the lines, and cover the mast' holes from pesky birds.

A luxurious captain turned in for a short nap in his cabin, timing in his second in command for control of the steer. He draped the longcoat he wore for these colder times over a carved chair untucked from the desk. The stiffness from his back and eyebrows loosened at last. Leg by leg his boots scattered at his bedside. The natural curl of his back unwound onto the floppy mattress.

Finding comfort, he drew the tricorn master hat over his eyes just as the glass windows shone the light into the cabin.

Light poured half of the estate. But he neither cared nor bothered to buy curtains. No worries when his hat did the job well and with half of the price. Instead of the salty air blowing through his nostrils, the waft of extinquished flame from the desk wavered over.

* * *

Similiarly, a porthole opened up half of the light. Sprays of ocean foam played with the air lock seal, teasing the occupants whether it was dawn or dusk. No matter.

Aramis' internal clock told him the correct time without a fleeting glance at the tricky waters. The first sight he saw were the floorboards above him. Not the cement holdings framed with wooden posts adorned in their cozy room. His sharp eyes reminded him through natural signatures of sight and smell, he was aboard the merchant's ship they procured on salt waters that belonged to England.

Then he glanced at a bodily shape he had pulled near him. It was as comfortable as a down pillow but firm with backbone. He wasn't disappointed to see Antoinette curling up near him with hair pieces astray. Sweat on her brow accumulated. Her skin had paled drastically, indictating the long night of emptying the contents of her stomach due to the unpleasant rocking of the ship.

Nevertheless, the few hours at peace her body allowed her could not escape the morning glory on the English shoals. Slowly she adjusted her crusty eyes at the swinging of the cabin. The natural movement of the ship hugged her backside, easing the difficulties of finding a comfortable position.

Antoinette rose her upper half only to slip on her unsteady elbows and fall back on the bed. The groans of her muscles ached. Cracks on her vertebraes indicated her stiff back and connecting shoulders. Aramis braced her forearms and pulled her up against the wallside boards that melted to the bedposts.

She surveyed a hand through her scalp, already cringing at the bedhead she wore. "Oh, my head," She wet her lips at the soreness in the back of her throat. "I must be still on the drink. You've never risen before me," Her eyes meandered to Aramis, who had risen as gracefully as an alleycat, and not the wobbly fish-out-of-water Antoinette.

Aramis' mustache twitched in amusement. He kissed her forehead. "First time for everything. We docked hours ago. Thought the extra rest would do you some good," He put on his boots. "Breakfast?" he hesitated. He treated Antoinette on ship very delicately. As if she were a rare blooming orchid in winter. One wrong breeze and surely the petals would wilt. The same analogy applied to her stomach too.

Antoinette nodded grimly as she caressed her legs to her chest. Her toes curled into the sheets for some stable platform. "Least my appetite is returning... Say, I don't recall coming to bed?" Her eyes widened in wonder as she looked for clues of bottle or mysterious board that magically transported her from to and fro.

"Porthos was knocked out. Athos and I carried you in," Aramis tucked in a bit of his shirt.

Antoinette curled a piece of hair childishly. "Poor Porthos," she murmured.

Aramis laced the ties around his shirt before helping his lovely lady to her feet. Her body leaned against him momentarily, making the few movements to stand up on sleepy feet. "He's seen worse than the grime of a ship," he said.

Even when she came to, Aramis did not let go of Antoinette fearing she would only stumble herself unconscious. Her pale, shaky hands clung onto one of his wrists as he helped her walk to a scrawny chair next to an uneven table.

Aramis left her sitting on the chair searching for things in a trunk. His hands passed over delicate laces and rich velvets he had become familiar with.

Before Antoinette could blush in embarassment as he scrambled into her belongings for something to wear, a curt rattle on the door woke her.

Aramis rushed to the door only to find a cheerful Planchet. Who eventually blushed upon seeing Antoinette in her night clothes that barely seemed decent for wearing. One glare from Aramis and the sound of clenched knuckles brought the rotund man back into his place.

"'Scuse me, miss, master," He avoided the stares from Aramis. "I've procured upon Master Athos' instructions, the necessary instruments for today's assignment," He held a carefully wrapped package with a bit of string attached to keep it's contents intact.

Suddenly the events from last night finally returned to Antoinette. Her stomach roared in uneasiness as she could only guess what was in the package.

* * *

Screams of horror would have been kindly to Aramis. But Antoinette was not one to act like a lady most of the time.

"I'm not coming out! Not now, not ever!"

Aramis awaited outside their shared room for her privacy and his sanity. His arm leaned against the door with his head only inches away. With the other hand around his hip, he said, "Antoinette, love, can't be that bad. Open the door," Never to plead, he stood his ground as irritating as it was. He begrudgingly reminded himself if it were possible, never to board a sea dwelling ship again with her.

Antoinette stomped her foot impatiently from the other side of the door. "No! I feel absolutely, bloody bulbous! I'm as round as a pumpkin!" she complained.

On the norm, Aramis would demand entrance. She hasn't stopped him before. And why should either one of them? They have lived together in harmony for six years; sharing intimate and personal connections they hadn't before.

Aramis could almost hear her hesitation. The tilting between whether to unveil whatever has been holding her back or to shame aside in the corner like a dog with it's downed tail.

He whispered against the frame, knowing she would listen. "Netta...Please? Open the door," he called gently. The creaking of the wood beneath his feet shifted ever so slightly. The navigation of her feet on the other side wasn't so hard to tell. Gradually her two feet were detected just on the other side of the door, waiting.

"... Promise you won't laugh?"

"On my heart," he swore.

If it weren't for his hand on the door frame, he would have caught himself on the floor rather than leaning. Antoinette awakwardly stood in the center of the room, her hands twitching at the hip. From a forward glance an ordinary person from far out range wood see a woman in an English peasant garb with odd angles stitched. A curious wanderer would gawk at the fattening surrounding her oval lower stomach. Aramis... all he could see instead of the positionings where the harness was strapped securingly around her waist, was her radiant figure stepping into prenatal perfection.

Though the outfit was too simple for her tastes, his eyes meandered over her body. She waited with bated breath over his judgement. The similiar glaze in his eyes brought him out of the room, out of this ship, and far across the Channel back to Paris.

His visioning of a cottage on the nicer corners of the map with smoke billowing out haunted him. He was confronted with hazy blurs of persons dancing around his mind. Of a woman leaning over a small rocking bed. Of the same woman caressing a baby.

And then the dream ended.

"Well? How bad is it?" Antoinette asked.

Aramis, befuddled to why his dream had suddenly ended, murmured to himself, "No..."

Antoinette cocked her head. "No?"

Caught, he recovered, "No, you j-just look... radiant?" Every adjective felt wrong on his tongue. There couldn't be a word to describe his feelings in that moment. He was puzzled yet happy. Confused and contented. Sorrowed and relieved.

Puzzled. Why now did they come? Six years ago... hell, even one year ago he would never waste a farthing on the subject. Happy. The mood in his visions seemed to unstopper the feelings he had only reserved for a select few to see.

Confused. In that brief ionic moment, he had mixed up fantasy with his reality. His love, his reason for living day to day, held a beaker to the foggy depths of his muddled mind. But then when he crossed that light, vaguely traceable line between what's real and what's not, he forgot his place. Content. Utterly strange, yet he wouldn't have minded to envision the both of them away from duty and praticalities in the countryside perhaps; in a small sector away in Paris that was undiscovered.

Sorrowed. And then to only realize the dream he had wished was only due to a small memory of Antoinette wearing a fake pregancy for the mission, left little recollection of that happiness. Relief washed over for him, but only in pity. There was still a job to be done, and unfortunate for the both of them, it could very well be one of their last ones together.

Antoinette endured the hints of Aramis' set of emotions she had identified only years ago. Yes, she did identify them well. That didn't mean she had to think a little bit more of _why_ he had done so. She forced her mind to ease at the task at hand.

"Thought I had to be glowing," Her smile broke at the chunks of doubt in her frown line.

Absentmindedly, Aramis stalked forth and brushed his hand across her curls. Her face wasn't powdered with the makeup she was used to wearing. Her face was clean and showcasing her natural feminine features. He slowly bent forward his lips on to her. She recieved him gladly as the hand wrapped around the nape of her neck and the other twined around her belly to her back.

He whispered across their easy breaths, "You are,"

Forgetting he had left the door wide open, Athos walked past the door and gazed in at their steamy kiss and a very round Antoinette. His brow furrowed before he lifted one of the brows open in curiosity.

Antoinette blushed and tried to hide herself away from Athos staring. Aramis did not try to conceal her as she wanted to. He dared Athos to crack a joke or say a thing about her obvious condition. It was then he remembered the plan.

"Oh, right," His face recognized, and then returned to his stoic nature before proceeding down the hall way.

Aramis rolled his eyes at his blantant expression before closing the door so he could appreciate the brief time he had with her. And before she would have to tear down the fake stuffing, ending Aramis' well spent time in the land of forgotten dreams.

* * *

How ironic Antoinette and Aramis procured a pumpkin cart was beyond her imagination. By the time they had made well into the fortress, the staring had decreased at herself and it came to a second nature to rub her obtuse belly. For acting purposes, of course.

She remembered the few stares from knowing mothers who looked back at the toddlers playing near the fruit stands before reaching the gates. Antoinette constantly reminded herself she was playing an English woman. The English took care of the English. If she were to be dressed as the French woman she grew up to be, there would have been a lot more stares and some added obscene gestures.

"Don't worry there, love! You'll be good as new by afternoon tea." Aramis' heavily thickened vowels coarsened. If she had a hat, she would tip it off to Aramis at his bravada. His fake Cockney accent only made the ploy better.

"Can't you drive any faster, you blighter?" But it was Antoinette that would swim in the pool of their success. This was one of the rare occasions she could act like she was fighting with him and yet win because of her fake 'deliverance' to word play.

She sat uncomfortably on the open carriage of the cart and made that well known to any passing bystanders. She huffed and puffed and mainly protected her sheening face and bulging stomach from the afternoon heat.

Aramis nodded off to the horse to carry on, looking for the positioning points Athos had discussed to the grave of their assignments. "Well, do you want to ride around on top of a bloomin' pumpkin cart? Not the easiest thing to carry, aye?" He laughed to himself while carefully slapping the back of her.

Antoinette narrowed her eyes. "Are you insulting me? At my neediest time!" Her herald turned a few heads.

Aramis' eyes widened as he fumbled with the reigns. To a 'T' he managed to perform without fault. His shaky hands would only cause the scene to a crescendo. "No, no- Luv, if you only-"

A thunderous crash the whinnying of horses echoed the walls of the fort. Porthos, decked into a docker man's outfit of choice stood in mad defiance at the couple on top of their cart. The horses backed out of their corraled crash but only to trap theirselves on their master's will.

"Oy! You! What the devil do you think you are doing?" Aramis yelled at Porthos' blunder. Antoinette breathed heavily from the impact and clutched her non-aching stomach.

"I thought you saw the signal!" Porthos re-did the waving signal indicating the impending doom they would tangle theirselves into.

A fake contraction unnerved passing people's ears. "AHHHH!" Antoinette screamed on cue. The two men, distracted with each other, kept glaring daggers.

Aramis mockingly waved his arms around like Porthos. "I saw you waving like an idiot!"

"Well, that was the bloody signal!"

Antoinette drew her hands into fists and waved one at Porthos. "Stow it! The both of you! AHHHH!" She grabbed her back.

Aramis bellowed, "Couldn't you have been more cautious? I have a baby on board!"

Menacingly, Porthos laughed in the hilarity. "Frankly, the only creature I see is breathing like a dragon on the mead!"

"How dare you insult my wife!"

"MY WATER JUST BROKE!"

Aramis slapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. "Look what you done now! You've dumbed her down into labor!"

Porthos stomped his foot over a broken piece of his cargo. He had half a mind to continue the act with the throwing of things but thought otherwise. "My bad, perhaps the little devil inside will show you not to knock up your lass!"

Aramis stood up and yelled down at him, "I'm trying to see things from your point of view, but, unfortunately, I can't get my head that far up my ass!"

"Up your ass? I'll tell you what-"

"Yes!"

Antoinette rolled her eyes as she attracted the bystanders with her ear piercing screams. She could only imagine the pain but it also felt a little rushed and too convienent for the both of them to run into each other while she was about to give birth. She dialed down her screams and managed to draw a line of sweat on her forehead from the afternoon sun.

"If you had been paying any attention you would have noticed your wife besides you delivering your evil spawn, you half wit!" Porthos spat.

Having enough of the conundrum, one of the on duty sergeants with a troupe of footmen marched over to seal away any of the obnoxious intruders.

"That's enough of that!" he sounded off.

Aramis shut his trap but still glowered at Porthos. Meanwhile, their companion sat uncomfortably huffing and puffing with a fan busily wafting air towards her.

Porthos scoffed at Aramis before praising the soldier. "Finally, good, at last, a peace officer! Now listen, Sergeant, I would like you to arrest this man!"

Aramis scowled, "Arrest me? You can't arrest me!"

"Don't you tell me that! I've lost my prized bantam!"

"Bantams? They are rotten!"

"They are not rotten! The only rotten thing in sight is the stench of your eau de cologne! Smells like the bloody Thames on sewage day!" Porthos almost let slip with his noticable French accent. He downed his natural voice with rough cords of an English fisherman.

"Harriagan!" he swore. "You would know since you bathe in it, you rowdy rat!"

The sergeant had a short tolerance for these things and it was easily told by his twitching mustache. "OY!" he yelled for their attention span. "I will not have infernal filth blockage the fort! If you two can't behave, I'm afraid I will have all of your arrested for obstruction of the peace!" he threatened lowly. Firearms were cocked but not intentionally aimed at.

Antoinette threw one of the baby (how the irony) pumpkins over his head like a bleeding fury. Her nails seemed to turn into pale claws and wisps of air moved violently in the wind. "CAN'T YOU SEE I'M GIVING BIRTH, DAMN IT!"

Aramis groaned in emotional pain at the frightened men. "Now you've done it!"

* * *

**So... I feel terrible that this has been on hold this long. Hopefully this chapter is alright, I did kinda rush it towards the end, but yeah... It seems like now the only days I can update are Saturdays and the slim chances of Sundays due to the insane amount of work and chores piled up each day. :P Someone's gotta do it!**

**peak of writing this chapter: You get an insight of Aramis' mind towards their future together.**

**pit: trying to think of insults Aramis and Porthos can say to each other that's comical...**

**Read, review, and enjoy! - radiolover1029**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Obscurement

**Me: -dressed like a circus ringleader- Step right up! Step along! Free airship rides for the next two hours!**

**Porthos: Shouldn't we strategically market a fair price considering the huge demand of people? Profits could triple if you can open up for four hours instead of the two. Ooh! And the last half hour could be free for second timers!**

**Me: Since when did you take Economic Statistics?**

**Porthos: I didn't, I'm doing this to spend money on myself.**

**Antoinette: There's the evil mastermind idea.**

**Buckingham: -pops up- Hey! There can only be one witty and dashing evil genius here and that's me!**

**Me: Yeah but only one of you can rock the one earring look. Starts with a Por- ends with a -thos.**

**Porthos: O.O There's someone else named Porthos?**

**Athos: My God, radiolover1029, you've struck him dumb for sure!**

**Me: -.- Great.**

**Antoinette: I wouldn't worry so much about him. He'll be fine if you give him money. -hands Porthos a gold coin and instantly he cheers up- Anyone want to stick Buckingham at the top of the blimp?**

**Me: I nominate Athos!**

**Athos: Alright. By my honors, I will. -sticks Buckingham at the butt of the blimp-**

**Buckingham: No! My hair wasn't meant for this close of humidity. Athooooosssss!**

**Me: I don't own anything from The Three Musketeers. If I did I would totally use that airship everrrrrrry day. :)**

* * *

The pitter patter of the feet of vermin scuttle about the filthly linings of the fortress walls. Muck piled around them as their beady eyes searched high and low for any bit of morsel to chew on. Nothing fathomed their hunger as they scurried at the sound of marching feet stomping their away. Out of sight and mind, they hid within the shadows, only their tiny eyes peeped open at the far end of the fortress to a group of shady characters flittering out of the bustling area.

Antoinette let her hair down from her hood when she was sure the coast was clear again. She fixed a stair hair and desperately needed to shed her cloak if she desired to feel a little sense of cleanliness.

She stared blantantly at Athos rummaging around in Porthos sack for what looked like a speared metal grapple hook without any connecting rope.

Antoinette leaned next to Aramis, who crushed her to his side when his paranoia told him guards were a lit too close to the opposing gate they left from.

"Tell me why getting kicked out of this gateway, which is farther away from the docks than any other, is the ticket to getting onto an airship?" Antoinette narrowed her eyes. She understood the kid and a guard switch, an easier route to take. But for the rest of them getting to the airship (or phase two) was beyond her beliefs.

Athos smirked. "Little faith in me?"

She plastered a smile. "The smallest of doubts," she assured him.

He gripped the hook firmly in his hand. "With our performance, the guards will double at this gate now that we've proved to them it is far too easy to get in with peasants to deal with," He eyed the top of the fort walls where there were less sentries than those on the ground. "That would leave the other gates short a couple of guards than they are used to,"

Porthos caught on. "So they'll think we would use a ground approach?"

Aramis looked towards the heavens when a speck of cloud that was hiding the sun, disapparated. "When we do the opposite,"

Athos nodded. "Yes. Aramis, did you bring the rope?"

Aramis' leering eyes drank in Antoinette's still heavily bloated figure. "What do you think is holding the stuffing underneath Antoinette's skirts?" He teased his hands on her back. Antoinette's nose twitched from the feeling of coarse rope rubbing the wrong way against her smooth back.

Antoinette said quickly, "Yes, could we get them out? This fake pregnancy is giving me rope burn on my back," Porthos and Athos rolled their eyes as Aramis happily volunteered to be the one to take it off. Antoinette in return slapped his leacherous hands.

* * *

Undoing the knots of rope took less time than needed when Antoinette screwed on Aramis' mind in the right direction. Athos used the lengthy bits of rope to secure the hook line and let Porthos take the swing. It took two times before it managed to successfully land above their heads without loose ends.

Being the heaviest, naturally Porthos climbed the walls first. His feet took in every crack and nook and used them to hold up his figure. Once over the towering wall, he doubled the knots before giving the okay for Athos to scale next.

With a rushed timeline, Athos hurried up the rope. Antoinette shimmied up next with a sudden mastery to the skill of scaling walls. Her lean figure gave her the advantage to hoist faster but with the expense of rope burns blistering her hands already. She ignored the pain and looked down once to see her spotter, Aramis watching her every move.

Tired from her aching hands, she cracked up lightly, "So thankful I brought a pair of trousers," She reminded herself of the need of such articles before landing.

Clearly below, she heard, "I'm not,"

"Heard that!"

With five more heaves she was lifted up by the gentle giant Porthos minus the difficulty. "Light as a feather. Or two," he mocked her weight. She would have glared him with a real dagger if it weren't for Aramis already half way crawling up.

Aramis' passion came to heights. He trusted the Lord in mysterious ways to catch him when he fell. Being higher up made him closer to his religion, and thus was a particular strength for him in the Musketeer guard.

Athos hoisted a hand to Aramis, who willingly grabbed onto it. "Next, distraction. We break up in teams of two, in the right direction," He pointed the two directions that would separate us. At the intersecting corner what seemed like a mile away was the docks. Antoinette lifted her hair back into a braid before unveiling the shine from the dagger cases.

"We meet up at the water gate," Athos' voice strengthened as three guards on Antoinette and Aramis' side spotted them. If they didn't slit their throats soon, that three can easily turn into three hundred. "Break!"

Everything sped up for the one second they departed. Then time stood on the edge of a cliff. Slowly it bended to the will of gravity and with agony slowed. Together, as a team, the duo chased after each other in the wind. When one was a hair faster than the other, the said other would narrowly glance at the side before making the falling clock reverse from the beginning to even slower motion.

That was until Aramis got the first kill.

An attack at the jugular, three swift kicks in the pelvis from the hilt at different angles and a strangle for breath from both hunter and hunted, one by one they fell. Antoinette rammed into two, sent one eagle spread at the outer side of the fortress, dead.

Blood stained the English's mouths like premature red wine. The whites of their eyes only widened when they fell unceremonously to the ground. Limbs were left at odd angles. Gashes and opening wounds poured our crimson regret.

Once the tango was done, the clock smashed to the cliff's floor and the cycle of murdering was over. Antoinette wiped off her daggers with the dead's cloth cloaks. She watched with lidded eyes as her lover bent down to a boy solider- no older than 20. His eyes once held fire she had recognized too often. Her heart ached that the same boy that only marked one of innocence had no idea why he had joined a Lord's navy or know how to handle a weapon properly without overthinking or fumbling with the powder.

That same boy could have been the man she had grown to love years ago. Aramis took a spare handkerchief with no embroidery and dabbed the few specks of blood that marred his handsome face. With respect he lowered the napkin over the eyes and crossed fingers in the Holy Cross formation.

Antoinette's fingers drapped over the knealing Aramis' shoulder. Pain and empathy was written on her face. On Aramis, he wore it too often that he no longer knew how to show feelings for those he had slain. Without a moment to spare, he stalked off with an urgent need to hold Antoinette's hand. Together they ran off, not looking back at the sight they had spawned.

* * *

Eventually they all made it back without any more unnecessary interruptions. With a heavy, sinking heart Antoinette had to stow it away for the time being. She's done this many times before. Why should a single masterfully-skilled death haunt her now?

She'll think of the latter.

Athos scowled when the four of them climbed down the walls with the extra rope procured. They hid behind tall crates that gave a small viewing of two on duty guards who didn't seem likely to be unmoved. One of them was had a warning whistle that was loud enough for the armada to shoot them down from all angles.

"Locked," Athos muttered.

"Climb back up then down at the other side?" Aramis offered.

"No we would land either behind them on that narrow strip or plummet to our deaths at the rock shoreline."

Antoinette suddenly felt the rush of euphoria. Something only one person in high intense missions must have felt. A spark flew to her mind and without talking or signs of her implications she walked out to the open. Porthos and Aramis made a swipe to bring her back but the damage was already done. The two guards had seen her and eyed her for any potential threats.

She waved at them, seductively throwing an award winning smile and flipped her hair. "Excuse me! Boys!" She bloated her lip into a pout.

Porthos laughed giddily at the sight. "She's quick on her feet,"

Aramis shook his head knowingly. "As well as other things,"

Her hands found a spot on her curvacious waist while stepping closely to the men. Lying through her teeth she said, "I'm terribly lost? I was suppose to meet a Mr. Johnson at the shipyard for his appointment but no one has given a bit of kindness," The first common English name floated to her mind.

The older one of the two fixed the tighening of his collar under pressure while the youngster gawped like a fish out of water. "No worries, m'am. We'll...uh put you in the right direction," He flashed her, his yellowing teeth.

She laughed nervously, tracing a hand up his muscled arm. "Such a gentleman! Hard to find one of 'em nowadays, eh?"

He cocked a grin and elbowed his still gaping companion. He said brimming with self confidence, "You run along and check with the Captain if ole Johnson is on duty,"

"But-"

"That's an order!" he hissed. Like a puppy about to be kicked, he sprinted off with a purpose. Antoinette, pretending to be a doe, blinked her eyes. "Sorry 'bout that. Gangly youth, he is," he lewdly suggested.

"Oh?" she asked.s

The guard allowed himself to make himself useful and slap around an iron grip on her left hip. He leaned in closely, "Until he returns, I shall compensate for your company," His voice drunken with basic desires.

Antoinette's eyes lit up in fury. She hit him across the face like a brick wall meeting flesh. "Do I look like a two-bit whore?"

He retracted his arm to touch the burning of his face in confusion. "Huh?"

Kapow!

The man fell with his gun next to him knocked out cold with a bit of drool and blood coming from his mouth. Antoinette clapped her hands together.

She recalled, "Disgusting irkling," Her hands carefully unlooped the set of keys around his belt.

Athos grabbed them out of her hand almost immediately. "Good job,"

Aramis glared at the unconscious men and stabbed him once in the thigh. A few grunts groaned out of his liquid filled mouth. He unsheathed the dagger before returning to her side. "Just in case he has any ideas to crawl back,"

She fanned herself in false flippance. "My hero,"

Porthos came in between them. The divide nearly sent Antoinette to the ground if it weren't for Porthos that pushed her along to the marina. "Save that until _after_ we capture the ship,"

* * *

_"They weren't the distraction... I was,"_

On cue, D'Artagnan shoved himself and unfortunately Buckingham out of the way as barrels of gunpowder and cannon balls bombarded this side of the fortress. Splinters of chairs and desks pieces littered the air. The surrounding soldiers didn't have the time to duck for cover as every explosion brought a world of pain to their faces from the fire and the stabbing bits.

Cranking a machine that released ammunition in a circular steering wheel, Aramis expertly loaded and reloaded as quickly as one good. His determination at the precise points sent massive chunks of wall and furniture to collapse the structure of the room altogether.

Porthos kept an eye on the firing rod as he cannoned rounds from three of the at ready guns aboard the ship. To his right, a most unusual innovation had the nerve to produce enough flame to spout it out like a Chinese dragon head. Or at least one could imagine. Athos spun the pivots before aiming cautiously at the gaping hole they created on the side of the fortress.

At the same time of the flames eating alive anything in sight, D'Artagnan clapped in irons made his way to avoid Porthos throw of black powder grenades. Antoinette stood besides Athos cocking the gun in hand to doubly sure the soldiers were dead and at anything that resembled a Union Jack article of clothing. Athos lowered the gun when they watched with bated breathing a running D'Artagnan about to embrace the chilling air.

The scream from Antoinette's vocals never came as he leaped just in the nick of time before the last of the grenades collided in heat. D'Artagnan's feet barely made it to the railing of the airship before gravity played devil's advocate.

Athos' reactions were quicker as he stepped out of his station and easily grabbed for the irons levaing the boy dangling on his feet between life and hellish death.

"Permission to come aboard?" he strangled.

Athos reported, "Granted,"

Antoinette finally let go of the air releasing sigh built up before throwing a dagger to rip a rope in it's place. The full mast billowed out and their sail was set.

Sneaking from behind, Aramis clasped a hand around hers as they casted away in the direction home could only be.

To their ears, the wind carried a dramatic inflection of a ruffled and battered up Buckingham with hatred bursting out.

"Athhhhoooooossssssssss!"

Neither cares nor concerns were let out. Only the stiffling gasps of laugher from Antoinette as Porthos imitated what could only be a mad tempered Buckingham.

* * *

**I felt bad originally so I figured, 'hey, this chapter is gonna be short. why not do it?' So I did. Had motivation to do this :)**

**peak: Sometimes you don't need words at all in a scene. This is one of those times where simply words are too much and carry a burden.**

**pit: Going off with the peak, writing that boy soldier's death. When I planned this out, I never intended to write something like that. But I feel this story is a little fast paced and so I wanted something sobering. Plus it reinforced Aramis' point that there'll always be a death somewhere that no one can forget. :( Sad, I know.**

**Hopefully it won't get tooooooo sad in the next couple ones! Oh! And forgot to mention, this story will end at part 18 because that's the end of the movie. I don't know if they will make a sequel, I sure hope so! :)))**

**Read, review, and enjoy!**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Linchpin

**Milady: Never thought I would end up here? Where the hell did the ocean go? I swear I fell right there!**

**Me: You're in Radiolover1029 Limboland. A place where I rule. :) You, Milady de Winter are stuck here to do my bidding.**

**Milady: How unfortunate. Did Rochefort slay Athos? -looks up to the sky-**

**Me: What? o.O You were in cahoots with him?**

**Milady: If you mean I worked temporarily with him, then yes.**

**Me: Oh. Well. They'll make it. You, however, may not.**

**Milady: I'm going to end up on Buckingham's ship, aren't I?**

**Me: How did you know?**

**Milady: Considering he must be devastated there was a ploy against him, and Athos snuck his favored airship out of the Tower, nearly blowing it to ends and pieces... He's coming back.**

**Me: O.O Are you, like, Satan's daughter or something? How in the world did you know that?**

**Milady: I'm a spy, it's kinda what I do.**

**Me: Whoa.**

**Milady: And I'll do you that favor of sparing me by reading the disclaimer. Radiolover1029 does not own any part of this nor will radiolover1029 ever will.**

**Me: You're like, pyschic.**

**Milady: I prefer a gambler of fate.**

**Me: Anywhoooo, on with it!**

* * *

Once everyone could breathe a little more, D'Artagnan panicked when the irons came off. With a long of bewilderment he searched around the ship for the mere speck of something obviously bothering him.

"So what about the diamonds? Doesn't Buckingham still have them?" he asked Athos who held a spy glass at the tips of his fingers.

"Nope," he answered swiftly. "Milady likes hedging her bets. She'd never have taken the chance we'd actually succeed in breaking into the vault," He already had predicted D'Artagnan's shell-shocked expression was nothing to be expected and instead eyed something in the brass instrument.

D'Artagan, on the edge from adrenaline, continued, "So where are they now?"

Athos responded matter of factly, "With the only person she trusts,"

"Which means we've lost her and all this has been for nothing," D'Artagnan pieced the puzzle rather quickly for a youngster.

Athos shrugged his shoulders slightly as he spotted the very object he had been searching for years. "I wouldn't say that," he said. His eyes meandered over to the group, all of which wereeither gazing at points on a map or tying rope knots for better wind. "You were the decoy, we were the extraction, but the real linchpin of the plan, well, that was someonelse entirely. Someone even Milady would never suspect,"

He left D'Artagnan to scratch the back of his neck and figure out the rest of it for himself. Already, Athos began to feel the whole hearted chains coiled inside. He mulled over his thoughts as he gazed down below.

* * *

The grand scheme of things relied heavily on the drop off point Planchet had made hours before our noon performance. This was prior before his reconnaissance with Milady. Perhaps it would have been easier to use the water way routes but then they would have to use every trick of the trade to outsmart the crew and any dutiful soldiers.

Nevertheless, Planchet dropped off a cargo load of ammuniton and loaded weapons concealed in rolled up cloths. The display at the fort was made from three vantage points. One, the switch with D'Artganan. Blending into their scene while arousing the other important commanders attention allowed the pawn to move inside the fort.

Two, because of the seemingly easy ways to distract the footmen, Buckingham would naturally double the guards. What he didn't expect were all of them in one open spot, only to be kicked out and sneak back in. And finally, Planchet, who played a pivotal role in this mission.

Her hand delicately traced a uncocked trigger that held one of the corners of the map down. Making sail was easy enough. The mechanics were already half way done thanks to a bit of information from a fort insider who studied the men on the docks actions regularly when he fished. At precisely noon, they check winds and altitudes the sail can perfectly glide into. By the time they made a scene, the work was half prepared. It wasn't too long before the four of them manuevered the rest of roping and steering directly to their next pit stop- Buckingham's domain.

Antoinette's hair waved back with some help from Aramis' hand. A finger curled around his knuckle while the other hand collapsed on top of hers, pointing out the course they pursued.

As a learned cartographer, she calculated how far off they sailed and what angles needed adjustments to meet up with phase three. She patted his hand jokingly as he whispered directions that would send them the opposite way.

To the side, the youth polished off the hilt of his father's sword. He sat on top of a crate containing military supplies no doubt. He looked around at the helm. The leader of their troupe gazed forward against the wind with his hands behind his back. His eyes betrayed him when the closer the ship sailed over a coastal forest nearby London.

D'Artagnan eyed Porthos, who was berating Antoinette again on touching the weapons without checking if they were loaded. He winced out of habit at the blabber mouthed man. Aramis on the other hand looked amused as he watched his lady fend for herself and threatened to shoot Porthos in the foot if he didn't stop his obscene worry.

"How bad is she?" His eyes tried to avoid Athos, whose head cocked a little.

Porthos sent Antoinette a curt sigh before mulling his features under the weight of his hand. "Antoinette, would you say she's more conniving than the Cardinal?"

She cocked the gun intentionally before undoing it and placing it back on the table as a paperweight. "Yes," she said dully studying more latitudes of the English soil. "And worth double the price on her head than Rochefort," She quirked an eyebrow towards D'Artagnan.

Porthos hastened out of nowhere, "Which makes it twenty times the amount than Jussac!"

Aramis sighed deeply. "Have you been teaching him more mathematics?" He struggled to be entertained by Porthos' antics.

She answered back with a map insturment twiddling in between her fingers. "No, I think it's the women he associates with,"

Aramis leaned his figure on the table, eyes furrowed. "Are they librarians?"

Antoinette stage whispered, "One can only hope," Which earned her a darted glare from a scowling Porthos.

The floor beneath them groaned in extra weight. As a sign, Athos rushed over to them and through a back door staircase to the cargo holds. The three exchanged knowing glances before resuming the norm. However D'Artagnan felt a sudden chill in the air. It was an unmistakable phantom that drove through him, shuddering his bones in goosebumps.

Porthos grimaced. "That would be the unmistakable presence of Milady de Winter. Her chill can frostbite you from the inside out!" he pointed out.

Unbelieved, he said, "Really,"

Antoinette nodded solemnly. "Happens all the time. Though it still doesn't turn off the men," Her eyes twitched to where Athos disappeared to moments ago before lowering to the faded edges of the paper.

Porthos, ever the humorous, guffawed loudly. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" He clapped her on the back. She could haev swore a few vertebraes shifted from their place. Feeling embarassed for a joke she never meant to tell, her cheeks blushed.

Aramis amusingly placed a kiss on her temple, enveloping her in a hug. "You're ten times warmer than she could ever be," he whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

Before she could blush further, she was taken surprisingly out of the arms of Aramis and replaced with a jovial Porthos. "Hilarious!" His eyes teared up. "You are my friend for life! If it weren't for Aramis, you would be my little wifey for that," he said squeezing the life out of her with a hug.

Antoinette struggled in his grasp. She weezed out, "Maybe D'Artagnan's chill wasn't Milady..." She shuddered at the thought of marrying her best companion and jokester, Porthos.

* * *

It was Planchet that came through the door first. He stumbled a few words of his excitable role before excusing himself elswhere. The suspension knotted up in everyone, most noticably Antoinette.

Though never good friends, Antoinette would never forgive what has been done for nearly a year. She knew not to trust Milady considering her questionable history but never did she expect her to turn on the one person one did trust her- Athos.

He was completely head over heels with her. Not just for her looks and fiesty attitude. He admired the sudden look she gets when she solves a complicated problem or improvises on the spot without raising any concerns. As incorrigble as her nature was, Athos was drawn to her like a fish swimming into a tantalizing crocodile's jaws.

Speak of the devil, he shall appear. Milady had the audacity to smirk at the ones around her with Athos holding a gun in one hand and the ostentatious diamonds on the other. He gentle put them on the middle of the map.

"Boys. Been a while," Her eyes went to Antoinette. "Comtesse. Gotten round in the middle?" she snickered. Netta's eyes flared at the accusation and self consciously reminded herself she had eyes and ears everywhere.

"To my delight, no," she deadpanned.

With fake concern dripping out of her, she remarked, "Oh. My bad," Antoinette scrunched a hand in the foldings of her dress, wishing to strangle the woman until she snapped her neck.

"This must be the young Gascon," She eyed the newcomer like a snake sizing up her meal.

D'Artagnan took Aramis' advice earlier on to stone his features. She was vicious and simply loved to play dirty. "We've met before,"

Her eyes lit up. "Ah, yes. Small world. I didn't let Rochefort kill you. You do remember that, don't you?" She twined a seed into D'Artagnan's oblivious mind. Her devilish complexion was masked by her blanched makeup but you didn't need super vision to see past thr beauty and petty words.

Athos was the first to cock the gun at her. She expected him to hold his undying grudge against her. She didn't need to give him a reason to shoot... Well in her mind even if she gave him a thousand and one reasons to shoot on sight, he would still hesitate. And that slight hesitation was all she needed.

Milady watched the attention glorify her. "Did you kill Buckingham?"

"No," The dead set tone unnerved Milady. Her eyes widened and then blinked the reservation she did not feel.

"But you will kill me," No question about it. She knew.

"Yes,"

The lines on her forehead shown. "You would spare him, but kill me?" She whispered desperately.

Without beating around the bush Athos sneered, "Yes. I don't hate Buckingham,"

A small quiver on her lip failed her. Defeat and utter surprise slithered down her throat like unoaked wine. She could feel her eyes crust over from the depth of the winds. She looked to each of the Musketeers in vain. Each one she had wrong in more ways than one.

She eached in between her bosom for a rolled slip of paper. From her actions, the men feared for a trap and so aimed purposefully at her. She held it up by the tips of her fingers. "Here. You may find use for this," She set the paper down.

"Move," The gun ordered Milady to the deck. On open air, the skies churned when Milady moved to the wooden plank. She looked not below nor above for a godly miracle. Instead she looked to an adjacent cloud. Her lips thinned at the grim realization of her fate. It wasn't a trick. Today she had played the part of the fool. The wretched clutch in her heart went into overdrive.

She turned about and looked at her once love. He held no resignation to undo what would have been done. It was then the real side of Milady appeared. No matter how small that side showed, she nevertheless held a reaching hand in front of him.

The wind carried her whisper to his ears. "Athos,"

Instead of waiting for a curling finger to pull the trigger, she allowed her body to still and plummet beneath thousands of feet into the middle of nowhere. Athos, only then, moved back into reality and watched the clouds cover up what was to be the death of Milady de Winter.

Aramis, feeling the need to console a friend, sent a mental prayer for a painless kill. Athos was spared the sight of her probable mangled body. "At least she died the way she lived, on her own terms," he spoke kindly.

"She did it for me. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself had I pulled the trigger," he chocked back the knot in his throat.

Antoinette moved at the opposite side of Athos. Her arms wrapped around Athos, despite the unwilling muscles he couldn't move on his own. No matter how heartless she had been in the course of their journey together, she would always have a place in their pack. Whether her come to die was now or never, Athos finally fought the hurt and remorse he couldn't feel for over a year.

"Come on, let's go home,"

What she had stolen to live on without him was finally returned back to Athos. His heart.

* * *

**I think three chapters within a twenty four hour time span should make it up for the inactivity. This one is a little shorter than I had expected but nonetheless it is completed! Only four more chapters until the end :) Anticipation and anxiety is building up!**

**peak: playing with Milady's emotions.**

**pit: ... nothing really comes to mind :P**

***NOTICE* I was thinking of having a chapter 19 to conclude with like a talk show set up and talking with the characters but all in dialogue. One of my friends on here had done that so I figured I would give it a shot. If any readers have questions concerning the characters or just random silliness, feel free to message me through private messaging or through reviews. If it's not titled as chapter 19 or whatever then I'll have a seperate thing for it...**

**Food for thought: If you were in Milady's position, would you have done anything differently and why?**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Spectacle

* * *

**Antoinette: Aramis?**

**Aramis: Yes, love?**

**Antoinette: Why is it that everytime we have alone time, we end up in odd positions?**

**Aramis: ... Because you love me undoubtly?**

**Antoinette: Well... that too.**

**Me: I know! Because you are crime fighting, sword wielding lovers that really act like horny teenagers.**

**Aramis: -contemplating- I never really had a normal childhood.**

**Antoinette: And I never had a normal anything.**

**Me: Hehehehehehe.**

**Antoinette: o.O What's wrong?**

**Me: Oh nothing. :) Just that I know some things you don't.**

**Aramis: Well, she is the author.**

**Me: Yep! And unfortunately for my beloved readers, I have nothing left to say but disclaim this franchise. Aramis!**

**Ar: o.O Radiolover1029 doesn't own Three Musketeers.**

**Antoinette: So subtle.**

* * *

There was nothing but anxiety bundled up in her nerves. She had to keep herself busy. Every so often she swore her fingers were twitching for something to do. The only things in plain sight were the messy belongings Planchet had lugged around prior to the mission. Her hands curled within a woolen knitting she had attempted. It was worn through by the looks of it and unsuitable to wear for mittens.

Her fingernails dug into the holes, inspecting the damage before tossing it aside to fold already neatly pressed laundry. Something didn't settle well. And Antoinette had the gut wrenching feeling it had something to do with Milady's... timely death.

No doubt she had hated the woman for all the treachery but did that call for the pained expressions for Athos? It was almost too much to bear for him. The first time they see each other is at the opposite end of a gun.

Her hands roamed at her neck, groping for her pulse. She thanked God and her lucky heavens they had spared her and Aramis that punishment. Life without the other would be unimaginable. She kept muttering to herself they'll arrive back in Paris without further delay and things would be back to where they were suppose to be- miles away from each other.

Her teeth bit into her bottom lip. A few manicured nails curled around her chin wondering what else could possible separate them. True, they would spend whatever precious time... But sooner or later they would be called back into their societal rankings.

As apprehension etched her features, her voice squeaked, "Planchet?"

Planchet stumbled over a box with his hat threatening to fall off. "Yes Madame?"

Feeling the return of her voice, she cooly ordered, "Could you fetch something to eat for Aramis? I'm sure he's absolutely starving,"

He nodded. He cheerfully responded, "And that nice brandy in the cupboard for his parched throat?" He wigged his fingers in delight, probably hoping to sneak a drink before delivering it.

Seeing right through his antics, Antoinette wagged her finger pointedly. "You know too well Aramis prefers a nice bottle of chardonnay,"

Disappointed but nonetheless, he went his way. "On it!"

Antoinette continued her work deligently. Her hands folded the linens making every crease curt and noticeable. A lady's work is simply never done. She thanked the heavens out of the men, she had chosen a respectable and clean one. As she was storing the last linen to the luggage, she went rigid.

There was a small noise. One that required acute sense in order to hear. She felt it shake from her ears down to her stiff shoulders. Her nerves tried to remain calm, which was evident on her face. Ordinarily she turned her head slightly to the left, keening into the sound coming from behind.

An adjustment against the threshold caught her senses to overreact.

"Brandy is starting to develop a taste on my tongue," a husky voice calmed her racing heart.

Her body returned to its natural position and continued her work on the foot of the bed. "After six years, you would think I would be used to your shades?" She straightened the down could almost feel his smirk pierce through her. She giggled amusedly.

Then another noise came. This time it was rogue. Aramis stood out of the way as a huffing and puffing Planchet slammed the brakes to his feet.

Antoinette put a hand to her hip with a brow quirked. "That was quick?"

He saluted her once he somewhat regained breathing levels. "At your service, mistress!"

He handed the bottle and two turned down glasses to Aramis. She drilled, "As you were,"

Aramis inspected the bottle. It was a more recent date than his preferred old tastes. "Should I be concerned?" He asked grabbing the neck of the bottle and pulled with effort the cork.

Antoinette held her glass to the foaming mouth. "It's Planchet," she said nonchalantly.

He reminded, "It's you," While he poured for her his eyes drunk in her body. Embarassed from the attention, she stopped the bottle from giving too much and graciously took a sip from the near full glass.

Already feeling the warmth from behind the nape of her neck, she humored, "Non-fat me, I hope,"

Aramis cocked his head back to divulge his senses to the alcohol. The reserved bottle sat on the armored chest. "Oh give it a rest, Netta. You act as if it would be the worst outcome," He paced to her side, lessening the distance between them. He whispered to her,"We've already divulged into ourselves long ago. Why the sudden change?"

Her eyes sobered to match the grin she wore. She circled the neck of her glass selfishly. She didn't want to start another rouse. Why was he suddenly sensitive for her. "Because. At this point of my life I thought by now we weren't constantly separated. For once I just want that stability I had with you over a year ago!" Her words spilt.

He furrowed his brow in confusion. "Antoinette," he said laced with sadness.

"No! No more," She sat herself at the desk leaving some spills of her glass on her hand. Her frustration grew inside her hands. She let go of the glass, fearing she would break it. "I don't want my father to stare down at me like I'm the ant to his boot! I don't want to live here and you there! And for damn sure I don't want the Cardianl dictating the people I love most!" Hysterics allowed her eyes to wallow up in self pity. She shamed her eyes away with a hand, not wanting him to see her in this way.

He had felt as helpful as a hunter to a deer. He didn't care that half of his glass spilled to the floor along with the glass. He could always clean it up later. Right now, he needed to console the thing he loved most. "Antoinette," he choked out. His arms wrapped around her as he kneeled on one knee. Hands careessed her puffy cheeks from the lone tears enveloping her skin. "Why are you self inflicting yourselves from what could happen in the future? This is now. I'm right here. With you. On a blasted airship," His voice cracked as he noticed her eyes showed little sleep. She had been bordering living on automatic for the past week. He rubbed at them self consciously. The tender muscles moved under his touch.

She sniffled. "But for how long will it last this time? A day? A week or two? You can't expect us together forever," She tried to laugh but it came out as wet cries.

"I can," His eyes widened in shock. "You're stressing yourself out too much. What's really the problem? Marriage? A life in Paris?" With each sentence his buried anger slowly unearthed. "Please, clue me in so I can help you and not watch from the damn stands!" He tried matching his voice down for the sake of her cries.

"What?" Her fingers fixed the underneath of her eyes.

"Start with the truth. The _real_ truth. Not some excuse. Ask yourself, why are you afraid of your future. Is it your father? The king? The Cardinal? Us?" He whispered the latter.

Her figure un-paralyzed. With movement, she shook her head. Antoinette grasped his hands, afraid he would back away from her. In her moment she needed him with her. "No. Never us. If the circumstances were different I would marry you right this instance," Before she could stop herself, she came to revelation.

She would. That wasn't an empty promise. She tucked that underneath her brain for later.

"Such as?"

She hollowed. "My irrational fear of my parents. Their behavior. I don't want us to end up like them. That's why I was so afraid of commitment years ago. Everyone I surrounded myself ended up hurting me or I to them. It isn't fair to them if I meddle in their lives," she gestured frantically.

"Look at me," His hand curled around her chin. Instead of the expressionless eyes he normally had, they were much lighter. Not totally black but not totally wood brown. He leaned forward to kiss each of her cheeks but longingly kissed her lips. "Six years ago, you didn't give a damn what anyone thought of you, that includes your father. You were independent. You took risks, eventually met me, and in those six years you've done remarkable things people dared to dream of. So we are in a mess of things. Did that stop us before?"

In the tender time, she felt warm again. Not from the alcohol. She swallowed, cutting the thick tension in her throat. "No..."

He smiled, which quivered. A hand wrapped around her neck and dipped her forehead to meet his. He gazed at her. "I know your pain. The dark place again. You push them away but you bring them back. As admirable your courage is, sometimes it is okay to throw them away. Face them another day when you are ready. Together," Antoinette smiled for the longest of times, happily. Two more tears dribbled down without remorse. As they pooled off her cheek she nuzzled his nose.

"Why do you know exactly what to say, even at this altitude?" she whispered.

A curl of a smile. "Some benefits learning from bishops," He laughed as he held her close to him, even when he lowered her to his arched knee. Two more passionate kisses later, he retracted. "No, I'd say I'm prepared for whatever we dish out of life. Now, no more tears," He dabbed at her eyes as she blushed. "Shall we go about a nightly stroll on deck? Perfect conditions underneath the stars," His eyes wandered out to the secured windows. Night had certainetly fallen. The stars where beginning to come out.

She ran a hand through his hair. He exasperated at her touch. She kissed his forehead. He took very good care of her. When she needed it. How could she ask for anything more perfect?

"Alright, alright. Don't take the bottle though," Her eyes humorously gestured the broken glass five feet away from them.

He hugged her. "Of course not. Wouldn't want either of us to fall off," He smiled toothly.

* * *

Aramis tucked Netta underneath his wing. "Be back," he said kissing just below her ear sensually. In his absence she basked in the glory of a starlit full moon that seemed bigger than life. A portrait of a smile hung low and down below at the landscape were the runes and hills in the French reverie. Her eyelashes batted lowly.

Her ears prickled at the creak of another man's boots. They strode toward and then to the right of her. Athos was a man of many things to Antoinette, but a sneaky thief is none of them. She inquired her head to bow in recognition.

"He's up to something," he brooded.

Antoinette's eyes avoided Athos' moonlit empty eyes. "Finally over your grimace?" she whispered as the night breeze chilled her eyes.

"Enough brooding for tonight. I'll deal later," His stoic face stiffened. One after another he wrapped his hands behind his back to study his surroundings. His gaze matched that of Milady's. He had no concern of the skies above of below them. Instead he glowered at the moon, searching for something.

It was one of those times where silence wasn't golden or even remotely silver. She felt the impulse to speed along their pace. She steadied herself against the deck. "Did you... I mean, do you still hold a grudge for what happened?"

He blinked once before finding some solace to closing his eyes. "There are some things we hold dear to our souls to closely. We know that better than anyone," The quirk of a smile was reflected. "That night, I remember so clearly," His hands smoothed over the railing. She landed on her elbows, hunched over in curiosity. Like a child waiting for the nightly saga of a bedtime story, she tapped a finger gently against the hollow piece. However the only hollow sound echoed through Athos' souless eyes.

As much as it would bring peace to him knowing once and for all the bearer of his mind had vanished, it also left him unable to do anything. Drinking did not help. Nor did sleep. Thinking of battles or the second nature of wits didn't encourage new strength in him. With resignation he finally said, "I was going to propose to her,"

Antoinette's eyes misted over. "I didn't, to answer your unasked question,"

She twitched her nose and patted it as if it were a bit cold. "Why not?" her crackly voice made out. "Although what happened is a clear reason why not to... It was clear you two loved each other indefinitely,"

He told, "Nerves. Hestiant to ask," And then what built up for so long in a bottle of high concentration of basic needs overflowed and frothed like an uncorked and shaken liquor. "It all lined up: the mission, the rewards, the atmosphere. Yet... I couldn't,"

A lone nearly crystalized tear escaped at the crevice of her eyelids. She massaged that side of her temple only to unwind more empathy. Flashes of her dark side came back. Her mind boiled hot with confusion. A shiver ran through her arms and chest.

Old memories. Like the day she found her mother on the floor, stone cold and face planted next to a broken vase and spilt roses. The moment the doctors diagnosed her with a sleeping disorder. It forced her to move away from her martial bed and next to the comfort of her only caring child.

New ones sprouted up. Ones she had dared not think of in years. Like the first time she had met Lord Buckingham at one of the hunting balls. How one of his cocky bastard friends talked her up until he secluded her away from her family to attempt rape. The next day when her father, for the one decent moment, sought revenge and ordered an execution on the heretic. She could still see Buckingham provide testimony for it all and managed to get him off the chopping block.

The papers. The armory. The blood dripping knife. The screams of innocent people.

Then a vortex swiped them all away. Instead of the broken mess Aramis had usually found whimpering like a beaten dog, she snapped out of her trance and the only panic she had to calm down was her horse racing heart. To think... Athos had suffered much worse then any of them combined. She looked at his face and could only piece in her mind the same heart broken features Aramis had worn in the garden when she first felt rushed into the notion of marriage. It left him wounded but nothing compared to Athos.

Unarmed and unknowing, he had been left cold and unwanted by someone he had loved for a long time. Only to be stabbed in the back through the valves of his heart, he let her twist the knife. It wasn't the fact of the betrayal that twisted the knife deeper each time. His regrets remorsed him into thinking she would have stopped everything for him as he had done for her many a time.

Athos looked to Antoinette willingly. His eyes held back the tears his friend had already shed. He continued with off set tones, "Antoinette, I've learned enough over the last year about myself better than I should. If in time I would return to that point of our lives, I would have asked her," He kept nodding, convincing himself he would have. "I wouldn't change the course of events, not for the world. Not to convince her otherwise. To prove my devotion to her. Let nature take it's course from there,"

"Wouldn't that make you more bitter?" she whispered softly.

He shook his head. The few strands hid a part of his right eye. He fidgeted the piece around. It wasn't like him to be out of place. "A resignation," He tasted the words with certainty. "I would have no regrets left in live. Which is why I came up here to tell you this,"

Taken back, she turned about. Her eyes darted from left to right with a gaping mouth. "I have no regrets... that I know of," She twitched.

Athos turned her back around like a lifeless figurine doll. She was forced to face him again. A black shadow shrouded his left side. His hands cupped her shoulder blades. "You say that now. Days ago you were appalled at the notion of marriage. Yesterday you thought holding a child scandalous," he reminded her gently. Not to stir any wrong reactions.

The feelings of the dark cloud above her figuratively, particle by particle moved elsewhere. It was the first time she felt happiness course through her. She felt understandment. She hugged to those new lighter feelings. Her ribs ached with a sudden emptiness. An emptiness of that dark matter that once rented out a cap of her brain and heart. The final straws of that darkness flouded her with one last stance.

"But those aren't regrets I hold _now_. Last time I checked there wasn't a ring on my finger or something kicking from the inside," she felt her mouth and mind work involuntarily. The back of her mind coursed.

"Scared?" it rang through her. "Of that possibility? What if he proposed to you here? Life's too short. Live your life together. Don't be hesitant. We both know your answer. Don't make the same mistakes I've done," His advice rang bells in her ears.

All reservations went the other direction. Off to feed on another passing distressed soul. Antoinette's breathing normalled out. She curled a genuine smile towards the help of her gloomy friend. Little did he know he had helped more than he had attended to.

_So what if Aramis were to marry me? My dream isn't to fly off to the faces of unparalled realms. My home is with him. Just as his is with me. _She hoped for. And then the small excitements doused in. Hope. Small and perfect. Only delivered by the sun. The sun's twin whitened Antoinette's porcelain skin and illuminated her with light. The corrosive inky black haunts she had stored where eliminated.

Permenantly.

"And by the way, I've forgiven you years ago..." Athos walked away leaving his companion in her own revelations. _This is what he must have thought when he realized his true path_ she thought of Aramis at the church six years ago.

Speaking of which...

"Sorry 'bout that. I know you said no wine, but I have a feeling you'll need it later on. You okay?" He held a fresh bottle of that brandy Planchet hoarded and two new glasses. He saw within her frame, excitement and peculiarly joy.

Antoinette responded with an overwhelming kiss. It was by chance Aramis was used to such rampant responses otherwise his reflexes wouldn't be quick enough to catch the bottle or glasses. He curled the arm that held the bottle around her. Her lips nibbled at him in pure delight. Just when he was debating to whether to drop the bottle now to proceed back to their room- she drew back.

With slightly bruised lips from his passion, she smiled. "Actually, better than I've felt in a long time. Like the weight of the world is off my shoulders,"

He could detect something changed her. Like a 180 twist she seemed much loose and less brooding. Like there drunk friend. She wasn't the type to forgive and forget. Even with herself. He rubbed the back of her neck slowly. "Really? No worries?" he asked.

Her hands caressed the sides of his face. Her hands felt the scratchy signs of another shave in his future. She kissed the edge of his mouth. "Nope. Life's too short to worry about the future. I have my present. Here with me," She coiled arms around him.

Aramis took his opportunity to massage her sides down to her narrowed hips. "So... no wine?" he moaned into the kiss.

She laughed. "I didn't say that!" Antoinette reached for the bottle Aramis refused to hand over. He drew her in closer as her attempts to fight for the bottle were futile and left her drunken from his lips.

* * *

**So happy I got this one down and over with! :) Just a joy to wake up and write sometimes. Still want to promote that whole talk-show idea. Good idea or not? Message me questions through private or reviews.**

**Also, if you like this, you'll LOVE my 10th Kingdom story. It's a lot of writing and probably an estimated 40 chapters and expected over 150K words since it's so long. Your choice but I feel once this story is nearing towards its end, I would provide something else from my readers.**

**Finally, question of the day: I know there's the hopes of adding a sequel to this movie franchise, so... if there is one... do you all want me to write a sequel to this?**


	16. Chapter 16

AFL Chapter 16: Fight For Love

**Planchet: -retching- I hate air travel! -groaning-**

**Antoinette: Disgusting.**

**Porthos: We already knew that about him.**

**Aramis: In all fairness, you react the same way to the sea.**

**Antoinette: That's different. His head is already filled with enough air, than mine. He's... he's... an airhead.**

**Porthos: C'mon, even I wouldn't use that lucrative word. Too silly! Won't catch on.**

**Antoinette: Can I get a ruling on this?**

**Me: Of course.**

**Porthos: Favortism!**

**Me: I call it selective hearing.**

**Porthos: o.O**

**Me: On with the double chapters!**

**Constance: (tied up on Rochefort's airship) Radiolover1029 does not own the Three Musketeers but I wish she could get me a knife or dagger or something!**

**Me: SPOILER ALERT! You're supposed to be far, far away from here!**

**Constance:... My bad?**

**Me: -.- Continue!**

* * *

Aramis stood at the wheel, carefully navigating back with Athos guiding with the map engraved in his memory. Porthos and Antoinette kept a weathered eye on the horizon, which D'Artagnan carried the spyglass to his eye.

Shots of cannon fire hit the left side.

Athos slammed the wheel hard. "Damn him!"

At the head was the ordinary decoration. A French priest skeleton equipped with a scythe and the throne with a crown at the top of the gray skull. What was different about this ensemble was not the daunting figurine it represented, but of two things.

The first was strapped across the ribcage of the skeleton in fear. Antoinette's mouth gaped and grasped at Porthos' arm at the sight of her near and dear friend breathing heavily along the ropes. Constatine had frozen tears she was unable to wipe as she struggled to remain upright and not slinking down her restraints.

The second was more disturbing. With a knee lunged at the stand, and eyes like a hawk preyed on the smaller sized ship. The French crusade fleet, purple masts and stiff from the sheer size. He smirked at the troupe parallel to him.

Rochefort curled in satisfication. "Ah, Gascon! So you've traded up when it comes to transport. But, once again, you're outmatched," he bragged, holding onto one of the lines. "You can thank Milady for that. She passed on Buckingham's plans a long time ago. As you can see, we made some improvements," His chuckles were met with rolled eyes. "Isn't she a beauty?" He mocked in comparison to the stolen, smaller in size fleet.

D'Artagnan yelled, "What do you want?"

"The diamonds," He said as if it were so obvious.

D'Artagnan narrowed, "Come and take them,"

"Gladly. You see, I can blast you out of the sky with total impunity. If you fire on me, on the other hand, you'll be killing Miss Oh-so-young-and-pretty," He gestured to a scared Constance bound to the front. Antoinette held onto the young man's shoulder from doing anything drastic. It wouldn't save Constance. "You have 60 seconds," He deadpanned.

Aramis huddled the group. "He'll shoot us down the moment he has the diamonds,"

Porthos scratched the side of his goatee. "We can't outrun them,"

"We're sitting ducks if we don't do something," Antoinette added.

D'Artagnan visibly already processed this in his mind. He wrung his wrists in fury. "And we can't fight them, damn it! We can't," A hand furled through his hair.

Athos sounded, "Oh, D'Artagnan,"

Coming to a simmer, the boy angrily paced a step before rebounding to Athos. "What?" he barked. "Do you think you have the monopoly on loss? What if she dies? The life of one woman or the future of France, what would you do if you were in my position?" He dared to ask Athos.

There was a hesitance from him. It took precious time to conjure up a first of many lessons he would teach this boy. Not of oath or duty. Hell, not even swordplay. What Athos had to offer had more substance than a few lukewarm sentiments in an unfavorable situation.

Athos narrowed his eyes. "I've made a lot of sacrifices, a lot of hard choices. For honor, for King, for country. You wanna know what I've learned, boy? Hard choices and sacrifices do not keep you warm at night," He shortly glanced at Aramis and Antoinette standing side by side, admiring Athos' courage. Porthos to the other side. Even Planchet. They were a family and Athos would be damned to hell's pit if we allowed any one of them to end up dead today. "Life is too damn short and too damn long to go through without someone at your side. Don't end up like me. Choose the woman. Fight for love, D'Artagnan. France will take care of itself,"

D'Artagnan's eyes lit up with newfound curiosity. From before he just imagined the Great Musketeer to be a fake or something that a parent would tell a child a bedtime story. Now, there was something else underneath the grouchy layer of Athos. It was a sense of pride and fulfillment. Something so honorable that all suggestions of this man previously were thought elsewise.

Rochefort ticked. "Time's up,"

D'Artagnan swallowed. "An exchange. I go aboard your ship with the diamonds, the girl comes aboard ours. Once I know she's safe, I give them to you,"

"Fine. But I want to see the diamonds first," he bargained sharply.

Antoinette grabbed Porthos's shirt. "Load up the guns," She didn't leave her eyes off the ship as if it were a trick. "Just in case,"

Porthos motioned for the serf to follow him down the way. "Planchet,"

"Deploy the gangway!" Jussac ordered.

The helmsman relayed, "Deploy the gangway!"

Both gangways were connected. D'Artagnan was handed the diamonds by Aramis. He clutched at them. It was the bargaining chip to secure Constance. He was taking a big risk. However any foolhardy tricks on their part would subdue them and the diamonds plummeting to the earth. The cabin door opened. A shaky Constance in teal skirts braced herself as she gazed with the trial to cross. She survived thus, and all she needed was to make it once more.

At the same time they manuevered step by step until they approached one another by the halfway point. His eyes gazed at her and finally he released the breath he didn't know he was holding. He continued with Constance hesitantly looking back. Once both had traded, D'Artagnan held the pristine jewels in their faces.

"Satisfied?"

"You never learn," Rochefort back-handed him to the floor. "Fire!" The door slammed and the gangway removed. Constance shouted her pleas as Antoinette braced them down when the cannons shot at them.

"Hard, right. Fire!" Athos regained the wheel. Antoinette stumbled to the ground when the cannons hit. Profused smoke erupted from down below.

Antoinette calls by the downstairs, "Return fire!" Fire was lit and bombarded onto the other French airship. A percussion of cannons and their aftershock tilted everyone off their center of balance. Constance found some solitude inside trying to help as much as she could. If only there was a moment to breathe instead of the steady coursing of blood pumping as loudly as the cannon fire.

"Finish them off!"

Athos cursed, "Damn!" He allowed another cannonball to hit the side. "We can't outrun them and we can't outgun them," He pushed and pulled the wheel but wished for speed not direction.

Aramis said, "We could try asking them to surrender, but somehow I don't think it would work,"

Antoinette struggled to prevent Constance to go out to the madness but she pleaded her constitution won't be damaged from a few guns and shells. Constance, the spitting image of her own mother, advised, "We hide. In there,"

Where she pointed was the thunderous mess of grayed clouds. The speed of sound enveloped the storm. The center held flashes of lightning within it's crevices. Athos began plotting. Hiding within the storm, with a small ship could give them the advantage.

Antoinette voiced her concerns. "I'm worried about the lightening. If this thing tanks, we all fall down,"

Athos shook his head as he changed the course. "Then we avoid getting hit," he said stonily. The last of the firings and minute rounds were outdistanced when they laid in the pursuit. Being the pursued gave the advantage to think two steps ahead while the pursant were calculating exactly what their prey is doing. The beauty of the human mind or any independent creature is the absence of being a closed book.

The mind is braced with steel and firm concrete to keep secrets and information privy to the few in the know. Antoinette tackled the lines, knotting them to the best of her ability. All Rochefort could order is to open up the winds for depth and continue firing, which would be pointless with distance.

Aramis commented, "He's persistent, I'll give him that," Lightning crackled close. All on board cringed as it was audibly too close for comfort. Aramis muttered to Antoinette's frightful eyes, "Stay close,"

They ducked down to the drawing room, as Athos continued to aimlessly move on. "We need a plan. And quick,"

In her own realm, Antoinette looked curiosly for answers from the inanimate lines of a map. Drawings would do her no good without knowing where in this foggy mess were they. How could they find there way or even know where there enemy stalked without a plan. The storm was extensive but not foregoing.

Antoinette mentally pulled at her hair from nerves. The blood rushed to her head as she searched for a way. Porthos began to reload with Planchet. Aramis stood next to her drawing blank expressions with her.

She wanted to cry from her incoherent mind. She wished she could freeze time, take a breath and look for a way without the impressment of time dawning on her.

Surprising herself, she grasped the edges of the table to pray. She knew it to be futile. God doesn't answer to those who don't worship daily. Was it her fault she had preoccupations? Yes, it was. Another reprise was sung to God again. No plans. Not even a light. Nothing. She groaned. Her elbows lurched onto the table in frustration. She heard the footsteps of a frantic lady-in-waiting. She mentally rolled her eyes as Constance was flustered and pinched with coldness on her cheeks.

"Antoinette! Remember Lady Miriam de Fontaine?"

She wiped her hand across her stretched forehead. A little headache was coming about. "The old hag who bet against me in croquet?"

Athos grumbled. "Ladies, we have reserved time!"

Constance started to drag along her idea as she began to rapidly explain. "She bragged that she would win because her croquet ball was bigger and thus would go farther. But it cracked against the metal post because it was too hollow,"

Antoinette furrowed her eyebrows. Wondering how that could remotely compare to the danger they are facing now?

Porthos questioned, "What good does that do?" He left to pre-ignite some grenades.

Then the light she had not found, was experienced through Constance. She began to replay the scenario in her head. She stepped out in the open on deck against others protest. She began to inspect the equipment. She remembered the smug grin. The line, the shot. The crack when it hit against the post. It all formulated in her brain. Constance unhinged the obstacle and showed her the way.

She turned about. "Porthos, reload all the cannons down below. Athos, stack the mini-guns and set their course eighty degrees up. I'll take the helm," she ordered as she undid her work on the knotted lines. They would need all the altitude they would receive. Athos gazed at her. He nodded nonetheless. He had trust in her.

Antoinette looked behind the ship to see no resemblance of the ship that once tailed them.

"And what about me, Captain?" his husky voice called.

She eyed him. Out of habit, she begun to braid her hair. She watched him watching her. When she finally pulled the last of it in, she handed him a gun.

"How's your aim?"

He gripped the handed gun, overlapping her own. He leaned down to barely skim his lips above hers. "On target.

Breathlessly, she responded, "Don't miss,"

"And you?" he teased. She pulled back with hooded eyes.

"We'll see," She smirked as he followed to their positions on the outer rim of the railings.

* * *

"Round two," Athos commanded. He sneered at the unsuspecting Rochefort and Jussac. He fired the mini cannons directly at their crews heads with intentions to end the torturous repartee. It would end.

Aramis intiated the spinning wheel to spew out bullets and other ammunition. He learned from Antoinette where to hit with best accuracy. The crew watched and waited for their miserable lives to end. They all scattered as the heavens rained fire. Their screams like nails on chalkboards, seem to work just as well as the rounds they produced.

Their teamwork coincide to the plan. Constance and Antoinette took their personal guns to shoot (or in Constance's case attempt to) down on any stranglers. Their precision matched with deadly target range. The altitude allowed the scales to tip in their favor. Cannons were tried to be adjusted but with much difficulty than Porthos' strong arms to point them down at them.

In the midst of their reign... There was an over-anticipated cry of joy from the Chinese Dragon Cannon who was manned by none other than Planchet.

"WOOOHOHOOHOOOO!"

"Who the hell gave Planchet permission to _touch_ that?!" Antoinette shrieked in horror.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Notre Dame

* * *

A cacophony simmered over the streets in Paris. The boiling sun overcast behind the dark, thick shadows of two creaky aiships. Onlookers were nonetheless exasperated and horrified. For they both bore different colors. Was it the British? The Spanish? God forbid the blasted colonials!

Cannon fire emitted. Thunderous roars cycled around their heads. The lightning storm was minscule in comparison to the onboard shrieks and cutler clangings. The smaller of the two ships stealthed, with tradewinds on their side, next to the French. The ship matched board to board before the actual firing occured. Giving their altitude, albeit, higher than their opponent, didn't mean any bullets escaped them. On the port side, minnet balls ricocheted and attempted to backfire in the lower decks where black Chinese powder were filled in barrels.

Athos, now regaining his position at the wheel, maneuvered theship to be parallel with the shipmaster's weasely attempts to outrun. He jacked the wheel to the left hard and back to straight. He kept a watchful eye for an overly-exuberated Planchet as he aimed blasphemous fire towards the air sack of the ship.

"Plan's working so far," he called out to his band. Like clockwork, they moved in rotation in an efficent amount of time. Antoinette finally pushed Planchet out of his glee with the dragon fire in order to re-direct their target to some trickier ropes in the way. Athos admired the determination within Antoinette, if only for a moment. He distracted her, "I'll take it from here,"

She nodded curtly before joining Porthos and Aramis with safety lines strapped on their belts. As she fumbled around the loop the belt safely across her trousers and lower waistline, she kept nervously eyeing towards a fidgety Aramis. His tack line was secured and now awaited his fellow teammates to suit up and ready for the second phase in their three-step plan.

Antoinette's heart beat out of her chest as she recalled the details of her and Constance's brilliance. Her sweating palms loosened her grip but anxiously re-caught the line. She stopped for a moment to glance at the object at their eye level. The air-filled balloon was bulbous and looked ready enough to pop it. Her eyes glanced down to see the familiar design of French cobblestone and within fifty yards, the Notre Dame Church.

In her life, everything was coming full circle. From departure, to a fresh start, and to now- the potential threat of the biggest adventure she's face with them. Her nails left tiny half-moon crevices in her palms. The pain was white and slowly faded to the flushed red. The dawning of the architecture reknown for it's steeples and frame, was just underneath both ships.

Porthos had just made the final click of his belt to see his feminine friend in trouble. With the belt, of course. But something unnerved her. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Aramis staring at her and not the dagger that flipped animously on his hand. He clapped his friend's shoulder.

"Make it quick, we're coming in on them," he advised Aramis who continued to stare at her. Porthos briefly smiled as he ducked underneath to help Constance reloading the guns.

Antoinette could feel Aramis stalk over. She still held her breath as she narrowed down to the streets once more. Though her eyes faced down, her body naturally turned to him. Calloused hands took over the line and belt from her hands and did up the proper loops for her. As his hands meticuously worked, Aramis desperately watched for some sort of recognition in her eyes.

"I trust you," he breathed near her ear, nearly tickled by the curled strands that escaped her braided hair. She leaned into his touch. One of her hands, smeared with black gun powder braced his forearm. Antoinette met his eyes. Closer and closer she could feel his warm breath envelope her. "Don't die," His whispers rolled off his lips. The last of the bucklings was made. His hands, now free and without purpose, suspended in the air.

She guided his hands to caress her back. Antoinette lifted herself to reach the crook between his neck and shoulder. The hands behind her hung limp, before embracing her protectively.

She said slowly into his ear, "Can't die, we're on church grounds... err... space?"

The rumble of laughter echoed in his chest. She kissed his scruffy cheek. He would need a shave soon, she could tell. As she still clung to him, he backed away to hold a side of her face. He rubbed the smooth curve of her cheek with his tanned thumb.

With his eyes a shade lighter than she had seen them before, he gazed deeply at her mouth and then to her eyes. "Netta," There was a pregnant pause and a low catch in his throat. His eyes wrinkled as she smiled. She kissed just at the corner of his lips sensitively. "I love you," He mad ehis words low and appealing in their private moment.

"And when we survive this, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, a piece of parchment or not," His eyes picked and chose his words with thoughful consideration. He made no notion to the smoky scene below them. "We can stop this. Travel the world, as you wish. I'll do anything, if you'll have me,"

Words couldn't fill up her elation. Instead of a small laugh or a rosy blush, she let out a tear. Aramis wiped away looking concerned at her. She smiled. The wind picked up from behind Aramis. Strands of hair wisped in the wind.

She kissed him shortly between her breaths. "My travels lie with you. I'm not afraid anymore. You and me... and any little ones we have," Aramis curled an arm around her waist. The small twitch in his moustache gave way a toothy smile. "I don't want to lose you when I have nothing to fear," she said holding the hand that touched her face fondly.

He allowed a small chuckle out as she continued to smile. Aramis invited another long kiss between them. Allowing any emotions bottled to rocket off. How badly did he want to run away with her and forget their troubles. They all could have waited as he reveled under God's glorious sun with a basking Antoinette. He held both of her hands in his. "Be my wife?"

Dynamite and rockets carefully thrown down below blew up to hit the sides of the enemy were heard. She held onto him from the surprise of the aftershock. The crescendo of crewmen barking orders to raise height and the fearful tones erupted as they nearly hit the side of the Church. Above all the noise and chaos surrounding them, Aramis delicately tuned them out for one single syllable.

"Yes,"

Their right hands intertwined as their foreheads brushed against each other.

"Ready?"

Porthos joined them as they separated. There was still a war, a battle to be won. Aramis faced his lifetime friend gleaming. Antoinette, however, couldn't keep dwon the illuminating smile spreading across her cheekbones. She tried to conceal her embarassment into his chest.

"Ready," Aramis confirmed.

All three of them stood in a line next to the lowered railings that were blasted off. Porthos checked the winds, Antoinette aimed at her target, and Aramis re-checked his handy work on both of their belts.

"After this, meet you later?" she smirked as he gave one final tug.

He lowered his eyes as he gazed alogn with her. "You sure?"

She whispered, "As I am," He could feel small goosebumps on his neck. "I'll be the one in a white dress,"

Porthos laughed. "Shall we?" he gestured. Simultaneously, they took a step and leapt in the distance between the ships. They dropped with knives to the inflatable balloon. The satisfying slice from her dagger was met with euphoria. Rushes of adrenaline coursed through as they slid down with two winds- one from the sky and the other from the deflating balloon- waved her braid up and down. She clung nerviously to the dagger- the pit and pendulum to an untimely doom.

She slipped down to lower deck, where the linings of the balloon were kept. Black and red dressed men in caps armed the cannons and guns stood. Porthos and Aramis unsheathed their weapons. Antoinette was the last to make foot with the deck. She spun around to avoid the blow of a man's fist. She clung to the posted rafters to hoist her gun and started to shoot men left and right. When she believed she had enough time, she went into action.

Her sword looked for a worthy opponent. She settled on some of the riffraff threatening her pathetically. At gun point, she felt cheated. At sword point, she felt thrilled. Moving with the ferocity of a forest tiger, she pitted all her momentum from the heels of her feet to the swift cut against the jugular. Hit after hit she twirled and elbowed through the line of men.

Her eyes narrowed as one tried to strangle her behind. She chocked from the leather skinned gloves. She dropped her sword and pushed against the burly man. He knocked over his own feet and met a crushing, sinking feeling in his back as it hit the wooden posts. Once she felt the slum, she twisted his wrist and elbowed him at his strenum. The unconscious man fell to the floor with bruises and at the most a few cracked ribs.

A few scraps of diluted blood mysteriously coiled on her arm. Disgusted she wiped them off with a patch of the unconscious man's clothing. She located her sword ten feet away. She leaned down to pick it up by the blade. A single booted foot stomped on the piece of blade besides her hand. Her hand angrily cut as she tired to remove the blade.

Up, her eyes gazed with hatred towards the figure. The mere sight of the blond headed fiend gave her no pleasure but to imagine wiping his smug grin off the face of the earth. Jussac chortled.

"I've always known you would be put back in your place," his cold voice scratched her ears.

She huffed. Without so much as a predatory smirk, she rolled over to kick his shin. Jussac cursed under his breath. The moment his foot lifted, she grabbed the sword just in time. Antoinette managed to kneel when Jussac grabbed her by her braid and dragged. She stuttered a yell as she aimlessly hit the sword against his leg.

Once back on her feet, she backed up with both hands on the handle. Jussac threw down his hat and cape to face her in combat. His posture leaned back, daring for her to edge forth.

With a thrust and reparte, she clashed swords with him. He attempted to throw her off. Even with her feminine wills, she had managed to match him in some strength. Though his arms could crush within in instant, his legs proved viable to any hits. And so, Antoinette tripped him.

He growled lowly as they continued their sword dance. She kept an eye on his brute arms. She grabbed a secretly hidden dagger from her leg to attack his side. He hollowed in pain as he pulled it out. A feral side of Jussac awakened him. Antoinette's eyes showed fear in her eyes as he spat at her feet. Blood gurgle from the prick at his side.

Her foot pivoted to escape but a claw wrapped around her forearm. She winced as he stabbed her own dagger inches away from her shoulder blade.

"You! - You're just a woman!" he growled.

Her sword dropped. Jussac continued to tease the dagger across her fair skin. His left hand choked her neck. She clawed at his hands to restrain but to no avail. Beads of blood seamed out on her forehead. Trails of them fell to her cheek as the glint of madness took over him.

"Any last words?" His rough words barely were heard.

She choked out a cough and coughed up a little blood. It dribbled onto his gloved hand with disgust. Her hands relinquished in defeat. She looked desperately for help. But they were the only ones around. Aramis was concentrated with a bomber and Porthos improvised with ropes. She tried to call to Aramis pitifully.

Jussac chortled once more. He turned his head to whistle for the rugged Musketeer. Aramis' whole body turned in horror. To the side of Jussac, pinned against the posts was an extremely pale and suffering Netta. He ended his opponent swiftly but Jussac all his commanding men to attack him.

He looked expectantly to her. She spat blood at him and nervously kicked him. He muttered incoherent things as her vision begin to spot with black ink.

With little wind left in her, she mumbled, "I think you forget whose daughter I am,"

Porthos aided a roped down Aramis. Men began to swarm around the pair. Aramis' blood boiled as he watched Antoinette battle her way through. When all hope was lost, Aramis bowed his head. His enemies did not deserve to see his tears. To see the life of her being choked out. as his forehead rubbed against the stiff wooden boards-

Silence. Of the worst kind.

The floor shook rapidly. A carvnivorous roar unleashed the horrors underneath. Boards broke like splinters as the needle point of the cathedral broke through and expanded. Men were thrown off guard and Aramis shielded himself as the unexpected spirals of the tower thrust itself and spewed choas out like bad breath.

Antoinette closed her eyes waiting for it all to end. The hold against her throat restrained at last. Poundings on her lungs opened u for air but was acquantinced with smoke and debris. Her back fell unceremoniously to the floor. The groanings of the ship were outmatched by the beat of her eardrums. She slouched and gripped the floor as piles of miscellaneous objects were dumped as the ship settled once more.

Aramis looked again when the collision ended. Men were either dead from impact or knocked unconscious feet away from the epicenter. He dusted himself off and scanned the area. He began to rummage through the disaster zone for that mesy braid of hers. A sight of her no doubt marred face. Or even the wift of her lilac perfume she wore. Frustration knitted his eyebrows together.

"Aramis!" The boards moved as his giant friend heaved through, discarding debris and a limb or two.

"No," he said not wanting to distract the hunt. At long las the found her. Pinned underneath once more, but with a rafter resting on her right leg. Her face tipped to the side, showing the extent of the bruises. Aramis, besides himself, lifted the wood off her and held her, if only for a moment, in his arms.

He started to hyperventilate. His eyes inspected all the damage done to her. His hands wept with blood from her shoulder wound. He couldn't get to her. He couldn't get to her in time. Aramis raised her upper half to his chest as he smoothed out the frayed braid.

Porthos moved to grasp his shoulder. "Aramis, breathe!"

"I'll kill him," Aramis whispered. Furious, he surveyed for that rat bastard. From the closest door, dripped in her blood along his face, he wished he had a charged pistol in his hand. Jussac narrowed his eyes at the sight before cowardly fleeing the scene. "I'll kill him!" Aramis hollered.

Porthos held his arm from crushing Antoinette's bruised wrist. "I'll take care of him. You focus on Netta,"

Aramis sobered. HIs eyes fell on to her shallow breathing. His hand glued to her face. His fingers skimmed over her pale pink lips.

"My Antoinette," he broke. "Love. Hold on," He begged her. Aramis damned his tears for being too emotional. He felt vulnerable. Unable to fix her. She needed help, but none came to her.

The whites of her eyes blinked profusedly as she inhaled sharply. Aramis guided her away from some dust and allowed her to start her respiratory recovery. She coughed and cleared her throat dozens of time. Each time, Aramis would hold her hand, brush her hand between his fingers, and smile down.

He began to prayer in her absence of voice. He prayed to God, to give her back his muse. To continue. To no longer suffering. To not pay for his and others sins in the wrath of the Devil's advocates. He prayed animously and automatically as the sun's rays shone across her features.

Deep purple bruises in the shape of a handprint were achingly visible. He cringed as she moaned from all the pain bestowed. She scrunched her eyes from the intensity of the light. Her head, caressed by Aramis, gazed at the tower that saved her from the darkness.

She wet her lips. "I think we did more damage to the church than to me. Might need to spend some of Porthos' money to the collection plates," Her voice all raspy.

Aramis could cry from relieve. He tucked Netta in to his chest without smothering her.

"Shh. Save your breath. You're going to be fine," He kissed her forehead and lips. She had tried to respond back but felt too tired to have done so.

"Aramis," she said. Tears escaping at the crevice. "I really do want to marry you,"

"And you will," he protested. "You and me, remember? You'll be the one in the white dress, and I'll be nervous at the stand in front of God and our witnesses," Aramis took her right hand into his. He glanced nervously into her eyes that twinkled from the sun. His breathlessness was accounted. He thought aloud, "You'll look lovely as ever, especially with my ring on your finger. They'll toast to us with the finest of meads. God will shine it's heavenly glow on us when we enter out as man and wife. I'll finally get to sweep you over our own threshold the proper way. And then I'll tend to your every need the morning after; not even lift one of your fingers. I'll be the one by your side morning in and night out. For the rest of our days,"

His envisioning of their first home cradled back. How the wood would creak by the staircase. The fire would always be lit during the fall and winter months. In the spring, fresh flowers would be vased and watered on every table. The little details began to form. Like an artist painting a canvas, he waited patiently to soak in all the remnants of his future. Like watercolors bursting with dynamite, he could easily could recall days ago there was a blurriness surrounding the cloud-ridden dream. Now with glorious revelation, each blur thinned and stretched. With finer lines, he could pick out what was really on the tables. Lilacs and home-grown daffodils. Aramis could see the striped quilt Antoinette would dubiously attempt to sew.

All the small things made the picture in his head more realistic. And then another realization. It was not a dream. It was never a dream. It was a reality. The painter who sculpted this endeavor had hand-crafted this delight to puzzle him. And now he had finally solved the mystery. The artist was none other than a message of God.

All those years at the monastery, hopelessly searching for his meaning, his purpose... all revolved to one person. In his arms, he held what he considered the world. Without hope, without love he would have never been able to be the man he is today. That scrawny priest of a man would never slash at his wrongdoers. He would wander on like a lost boy with a lamp in a sea of fog.

That was until his shining light approached him six years ago.

The fog in his mind cleared. "Since when have you've been such a romantic?"

Aramis hummed to himself. "When you stumbled into my confession,"

* * *

It took awhile, but Aramis managed to get Antoinette up on her feet. Her arm slung around him as she wobbled her feet to move. He slowed their pace at a speed that's comfortable for her stiff joints. Blood mattered on the floor. Not hers, others.

Netta was patched up by Aramis. Droplets of blood hung here and there on her tattered clothing but to the very least, he dressed her wounds and let her beautiful hair loose. Magnificent waves caressed her one good shoulder.

A rumble of feet pounded in front of them. Porthos, ecstatic and out of breath, appeared. It drew great breath from him to see both of his friends alive and sort of well. "Jussac escaped. Half of his crew are slain. We won,"

"Rochefort?" she asked.

Porthos' lip curled in victory. "Dead. By the blade of D'Artagnan. The lordly lion pranced around the rooftop so skillfully!" From then until they docked to their airship Porthos gallivanted off with the tales of Rochefort's demise. Antoinette tried not to laugh at the jovial giant making lovey-dovey imitations of Constance and D'Artagnan as they reconciled for the first time.

When the winds calmed Antoinette held a firm grip on the railing. She gazed out at the sight of Parisian colors. Deep blues and extravagant tans. The straw-covered rooftops were alive and bustling the streets up and down the different corridors. Still ahead they glided through the clouds to their next destination- the palace.

Antoinette's bad arm was wrapped in the convience of a sling for the time being. It would be all well again soon. She squinted her eyes as she could see the puffy white clouds evaporate around them. If it werent for the sling, she would outstretch her wingspan and pretend to fly like a bird. Far, far away from Paris.

The thought struck her dumb. From Paris? She bit her lip. That's where it all started. Where she bumped into Aramis. The drafting of the first regiment of the Musketeers. The training grounds she at first watched. Her first rendevous with him and the first place to call home. Despite her mulled exasperations, it would be too silly to pick up and left immediately when they just arrived. The thought ached through her. Worse than her wounds and bruises.

How dare she think of it?

Aramis snuck in from behind and kissed her neck, carefully avoiding the bruises that had been wetted with a salve. She wouldn't have to worry too long for the bruises. His face pressed against hers as his arms coiled around her waist.

"We're going home," he said. And for once Antoinette couldn't have pictured another spot she would rather be with him. Paris. "Rest now," He kissed her lips longingly.

* * *

**Sooo... TWO CHAPTERS! So proud of myself. Never would have done it but I got so many nice reviews begging for more. It's kinda sad there's only more chapter left after this :/ **

**I hope it meets everyone's expectations. I worked five hours on this just so you know. :))))  
**

**Also: just want to mention when reviewing to come up with questions for the cast/character episode I'm planning. Realllly excited to do that. **

**For SMFMHE readers (10th kingdom): not on hold but not working on it. obviously want to get this project done and over with before readers start with this new project. The most tedious thing about writing it is getting all the dialogue and motions. Such a task but I do it for you guys.**

**pit: had a really bad week that turned into a painful weekend. just the atmosphere to write was bad for my motivation. :/**

**peak: two chapters!**


	18. Chapter 18

**First story completed! No, I didn't cry or jump up and down in joy. It was a sigh of elation. The story is done. I finished something many readers liked or viewed. It has been such a pleasure writing this story out from beginning to end. I hoped it met to everyone's liking in some form. :)**

**Do not forget that I am doing a sort of wrap-up interview sort of thing with the cast/characters of this story just for fun. So... any questions about the story or whatnot feel free to private message or leave a question in a review. I'll be happy to respond :) Nonetheless, I will still write it and post it on this story labeled as chapter 19 or whatnot.**

**Still can't believe I finished this... Oh well, I still have to write a loottttt of So Much For My Happy Ending (which I will extend the stories beyond the series at one point). As for a sequel to this story... I don't know I'm still debating. I don't want to officially start something if the producers of this film are drafting a couple ideas. I'll wait it out a bit, but will definitely revisit the idea!**

**And now...**

**Without further interruption...**

**The last part of All For Love is down below!**

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Chapter 18: All For Love

One of the tidious tasks the Cardinal had to endure the childish would-be king, was the expectant opportunity to turn a small happening into a frivolous event. In it's grandiose, the celebration of the ball was merely a rouse. A rise to expose the Queen for the fraud he had implemented. Single handedly it would be the highlight of his career.

To divide the monarchy would surely signal to the Pope his plummage to rise from the ashes of a broken House. Once the Pope gave him the reign he had desired for, only then will France become the Western light, a beacon for all others to kneel before his new continental order.

Richelieu had dressed for such an occasion. The blood-red cape he adorned was freshly stitched and ironed down by the French maids. Polished gold and silver rings draped his fingers like digit gauntlets. He circled the balcony overlooking the set up in the gardens. Maypoles were strategically placed around the fountain. With the precision of a hawk's eye, he narrowed down at the scrawny serfs bringing platter upon platter of the scrumptious buffet fit for the King's palette. The orchestra strung up the rest of their rehersal with head maestro beckoning orders for second chairmen to straighten up or for the violins to be tuned.

Many looked upon the Cardinal with fear. They rivaled, they scorned his very name. In the name of all heavens he shown no man any reason to fear him... aside from those who rebelled against his order. In his studies, he knew the world to be cruel and wicked. Without order and dignity. He had every intended to let God's Word to be re-taught and reinforced.

He crossed his arms as gardeners picked and plucked any deformities. They clipped away the weeds. Baskets of undesired flowers were shipped off to other servants and so on until they reached the scum-filled landfills.

_I am a gardener._ He began to ponder on the cobblestone steps. _God has given me the privilege to weed out the undesirables._ Once he held the scepter and was crowned, new ordinances must be made. God had no room in his Heaven to pillagers, vagabonds, or loose interpreted men. It was his mission to rid the world of the impure.

As a smirk developed on his face, he looked away from the botatious scenery. He plucked a bit of loose grass from his robes and flicked it away to the air. With much disdain he hastened back to the indoors with a purpose. Too much fresh air for big ideas. He need condensed thoughts: neat and curved onto paper- not airy passable dreams.

Unfortunately the inside was hardly as amusing as the outside.

It all started with a rushed usherman relaying the news from the street. Peasants were worried about a disturbance near Notre Dame. His ears perked at the home of the city's chapel. About a collision between two flying ships. His eyes widened with dread.

Three more things were sighted before Cardinal Richelieu gripped his fists fiercely. There was a crash, a bonk to one of the scared guards who fell humorously into the fountain, and the indistinct chatter of four men.

The Cardinal hardly recognized Buckingham's personal airship. All that was left was the deflation of the balloon, the drift wood plank pieces scattered aimlessly, and of course the mass destruction across the landscape into the linened table buffet. Most definitely his blood pressure skyrocketed.

"Arrest these men!" He yelled with conviction.

Guards huddled out of the palace with it's center drawn close. The King stepped out of his personal bodyguards' turtle formation in order to witness with hilarious faces at his backyard. His jaw opened and closed like a blubbering guppy before he could summon words and breath.

"What is the meaning of this?" His voice raised an octave.

Richelieu accused, "Your Majesty, these men..." However it would be the first of many sentences that hour that would be interupted.

The head of the group stepped out to His Majesty's presence. Trailing behind were his men, looking slightly dishelved but nothing too extraneous. "Are delivering a gift for Your Majesty. Compliments of the Cardinal," To gaze upon the beet red flush on Cardinal's face made it all the more worth. The heat disappeared as quickly as it came when the King's eyes rose with elation.

"Cardinal, you shouldn't have," He surveyed greedily at his new present. He clapped his hands together unable to control his excitement.

Richelieu darkened his eyes towards the grinning Athos and ear-to-ear smiling Porthos whom stood next to the silent but contemplating Aramis. His grimace lowered as he turned to his commander. "Well, Your Majesty did ask me to get you one of those, so...,"

He marveled, "So I did," The depressed airship gave out one last whoosh before sinking further into the ground. The sack already half-deflated, housed no small obstacle for a bustling Planchet. He eagerly grabbed a brazened pig leg for a taste. The King's eyes saddened at the distressed state of the ship and made no attention to the pressed up ground or the disarray of his men. "But what happened to it?"

Much prepared than Cardinal had believed, Athos countered, "Buckingham's spy, Rochefort, attepted to sabotage the craft. He's been dealt with,"

If there were a beat to live against his heart, it would have frozen in fright. Visibly shaken, Richelieu's eye twitched. They had unraveled all his plans within the day. He crushed his fingers against his palm fearing the wrath he had buried long before he pursued God's road, starting to surface through each cold layer in his body.

The King questioned, "Rochefort?" He turned a head to his subordinate. "Isn't he Captain of your guards?"

"Actually," Athos butted in. "His Eminence was the one who uncovered the traitor," From the inside pocket of his jacket, he produced a rather thin piece of coiled parchment. Broken, the seal faced down when transferred to the King's palm.

The King squinted his eyes. "'It is by my order and for the good of the State that the bearer of this has done what has been done.'," he read. He nudged his good companion. "That's your signature, isn't it, Richelieu?"

Uninterested, he responded, "It would appear so, Your Majesty," A slight lace of malice directed towards the grinning troupe.

The King eyed the words once more before gazing around from the ship to the Cardinal. He bit his lip in concentration. "Well, let me get this right. You brought me an airship and exposed a snake in our midst? How can I ever repay you?"

Cardinal rolled his eyes at the naivity of his King. _How can this get any better, Lord._

It was meant at the moment, rhetorical. However it would seem as though God was in a gaming mood today.

"I could think of a few ways," A soft feminine voice called. If his ears would, they could be pierced by the sensitive whisper in her tone. The neverending thump against his temple forced him to grin and bear it as the Queen approached.

Bedazzled with a coronate mask and dripped in gold lace, the Queen and her two ladies in waiting stepped up. "Perhaps start with your bold Musketeers, if I may not be so brash," Anne revealed herself. Soft as rose petals and as delicate as the lace handiwork she knit, her presence illuminated the smile the King held for her, and only her.

"Anne," He drew back his breath.

Pearly whites peaked open through her red lips. "I was just returning from the jewelers," The mask she held against her chest settled to her side. Underneath was the gift she was given for her anniversary. A dozen beautiful topaz jeweled choker necklace decorated her outfit like a work of art.

One soft crack in the hardened heart of Athos seemed to ooze out empathetic sentiments for the awestruck King. Not only did they save a continental apocalypse from the start, but invertly rescued a distressed couple's marriage. The creaks of his peripheral vision landed on a staring Aramis at the Queen's side. Behind the mask, Antoinette lowered her eyelashes at the dawning blush she hid. Their longing was separated by the magnification of the King's lovestruck eyes on his Queen.

Constance revealed out of her mask, which cued Antoinette to lower hers. All cleaned up from the sharpnel no doubt hidden under layers of clothes. Scraps and bruises already hidden after a quick change. Antoinette's freshly powdered face covered the small fracturing cuts on her temple.

"...Of course! Pouches for them all, you'll see to that Cardinal," The King blabbered out his elation. Out of their hard work, the King bestowed them more gifts than imaginable. She took her leave from her designated post with a small nudge from the Queen. Anne left her with a smile as she circled around to Aramis' side, not unaware of the Cardinal's beady little eyes.

"...And-oh, Lady Antoinette. What are you doing here? You're on leave?" Antoinette presumed her role. She nodded in his favor.

She retold, "I accompanied the Musketeers, Your Majesty. I figured they would need a woman's intuition in these circumstances," Her eyes drifted across all four men she worked alongside. Porthos buried the deep throttle of his laughter while his little protege in the making stared wonderously at the picturesque Constance.

The King mumbled, "Ahh, yes. Job well done," He clapped his hand on the Cardinal's shoulder in congratulatory manner. Then he shook a mighty grip with Athos. Louis bowed his head in deep respect for the woman. In all his young years he never had heard or dreamt of one more willing to take a tightrope across the dangers only the bravest men faced. He drew up a thought. "I think we need more of your breed in our forces. I hereby declare you with the prestige term of Musketeer-in-training, that is if Athos wills it,"

Athos turned his head towards Netta. It no longer held the scorn or contempt Antoinette had first seen in him. Something light and emerging lifted from his aura. Athos lifted his grin to a heartfelt smile.

He said proudly, "I would be honored to have Antoinette serve along with me,"

At the corner of her forearm and elbow she felt the tips of Aramis' fingers grip. She took it as his form of communication. To tell in so little words of his happiness for her. Though unable to give him a proper thanks, she gazed up to his sun-filled eyes.

"Excellent!" he dubbed.

The Queen's heels clicked once. She rubbed her polished off knuckles tenderly. "Well, I realize it is a little early but the orchestra's here and so are we. Would Your Majesty care to dance?" she asked nervously.

With a hint of surprise the King was taken back. But then it melted as he leaned for her hand. "I would love to," The Queen smiled brightly.

The King, feeling this more than private moment to be intimate, straightened up much to Cardinal's disgression. He turned about to face D'Artagnan. "Well, mind out, you fellows. D'Artagnan. Well, well, well. Looks like you aren't the only one who gets the girl,"

D'Artagnan looked between Aramis and Antoinette only thin sheets away to grab each other's hand and run off without a moments notice. That was pure love, not some sort of fatal attraction. It was the kind where common sense had no real meaning. There was only one and another. The youth witnessed something so simple that his mind surpassed it. In the complexity of their separation and long years of companionship, it grew like a flower. In full bloom, he understood both must make trials and obstacles in order to keep the relationship afloat. Her weaknesses become his strength and vice versa. He carried her when her feet had failed her. And in return she would aid him when he collapsed.

And then he turned to the royal couple. Young and still early in their reign, not much was told but this sudden urge to be with each other. Not for a political sake. To resort to the analogy, their flower had not bloomed. It was still an early sprout. But with faith and love, they could make it grow and root down.

As much as D'Artagnan never had any dwellings to fall in love or succumb to such sentiments, he couldn't help it. Love had no purpose. It just came. It does not choose it's matchings. Nor does it make any permenant plans. Love can easily die as it can grow. But that was a risk worth knowing.

Briefly he thought of Athos and his previous love. Although thick as thieves, from a distance no bystander could observe and call it lust. There was something in his eyes that held deep respect and care for Milady. However the root he had tried to plant was carelessly chopped off and rotten to the core by Milady's deception. No matter how many times Athos condemned himself to fix it with a drink or toss it aside, it becomes you- the plant. Like an overlooming shadow, one doesn't simply tear it away. In a way, Athos removed the core- the seed that plagued him- out of his life by removing it's dreaded source.

And in return, has opened the plot in his heart to hopefully love again. In his early journey, D'Artagnan had learned too much. Easy steps began to trace in his brain cells. Day by day, hour by hour he processed his experience in the biggest recorder available: his memory.

And when he would feel hollow or in doubt, he would relay to what's important in his life. To serve and protect wouldn't be the proper terms. To love and defend were better. D'Artagnan had loved his country prior. Now he held heart to his duty to France, his friends, and his King. As admirable as he thought he would be could not compare to the moment he faced staring at the King.

He recovered his tracks. "Your Majesty is a natural,"

The King wistfully glanced back at a blushing Anne. "Guess I am. As a matter of fact, I think you'll start noticing a few more changes around here. Thank you. For everything," He offered a gloved hand to the young lad.

D'Artagnan clapped hands together with the King. "Anytime,"

The King's shoes clacked against the stone as he commanded for music. "Well, strike up then!" There was a little hop to his step.

The conductor, frazzled, bowed. "Your Majesty," He turned to the hurrying men. He straightened out the rows and waved his baton in the air. "Positions, please, gentlemen,"

Strings harped from the friction of the bows. A sharp disarray was heard before the instruments synchronized in perfect harmony. Antoinette swayed her head to and fro as the lively tune awakened a kindred spirit in her royal friend. The King twirled her around as the music swifted into an Austrian waltz. Full of step and pride, he clumsily remembered the moves. The Queen guided him, using her arms to cut across the wind.

She helped him with the delicate footwork. He spun her around in fondness.

As Constance watched Their Majesties waltz across the spitting fountain, she clung to D'Artagnan's side when the Cardinal cleared his throat. Antoinette and Aramis glared at the man approaching with less authority than before. Regaining some composure he surveyed the four men and two women in front of him.

He lowered his voice as the King swung his Queen around too close for his comfort. "Well-played. I could use men like you," Not expecting anything less, he held out the powerful ring he wore.

Out of habit, Aramis dipped down to kiss it. His face stopped hovering and hesitated. He recoiled back to Antoinette's side. Richelieu drew breath in horror at the audacity.

"I already have a job," Aramis lied through his teeth.

Athos replied, "I'm a drunk,"

"I'm independently wealthy," Porthos added matter-of-factly.

He narrowed his eyes down the list to Antoinette. She smirked, "I'm engaged in other activities,"

D'Artagnan shot down, "Thanks, but no,"

HIs claws curled around the paper that should have changed everything. Instead it was a permenant reminder of what it could have been. He stuffed it meticuously inside his robes. "The day will come when you'll wish you had said, 'Yes'," he hissed.

"Maybe," D'Artagnan's arm curled lazily around Constance's waist. "But not today,"

Richelieu understood the promise. He lived for challenges before, now shouldn't be any different. He leaned his head closer to them all. He repeated darkly, "Maybe not today,"

Without so much as a word, he stalked off to his chambers, plotting all the while.

* * *

Porthos, Aramis, and Athos along with a tagalong Antoinette walked side by side on the path to the outer gates. Just behind were the two reconnecting lovebirds. It was more than enough time to leave. Antoinette could hardly be contained when she was allowed to freely walk across the lands without so much trouble from Richelieu's spies.

Aramis curled her under his arm. "So what now?"

Athos gripped the hilt of his sheathed sword with confidence. "We drink,"

"And then what?" Porthos questioned.

Without lack of a better answer he responded, "Wherever they send us. Whatever France needs,"

Aramis looked incredulous to his longtime friend and comrade. Perhaps he was playing a cruel joke on them. Athos wore every bit of a serious nature. Always. Now his eyes held some truths. Understanding. Reality.

Teasing him, he said, "I thought you didn't believe in that stuff anymore,"

"I believe in us," he said glancing at all of his companions. "Till the day I stop believing that, there are still things in this world worth fighting and dying for," It was real. At any given time or place he would lay down his life at knife or gunpoint for them. They meant something to him. As a team they were deadly; thus, as friends they were unstoppable. No matter how much Porthos schemed for money, or Aramis' whinings to use that stolen money to pay for collection plates, or Antoinette intervening when secretly stealing the money herself without suspection... He wouldn't trade what he had now for what he could have changed in the past.

Athos unsheathed his blade and held it out in front. "All for one..."

One by one they let their swords collapse on top. D'Artagnan's blade was the last as it toppled over Antoinette's hand dagger.

"And one for all," They showered them to the sky.

Popping out of nowhere came Planchet. In his arms were food from the buffet including a huge fish platter. His chin held a bit of tartar sauce as he spoke. "You know, sirs, I know you can be mean, tough, foul-tempered bastards, but sometimes I get the feeling that deep down you're all-"

"Shut up, Planchet," They said in different intervals before walking up in separate directions.

Feeling alone once more, Planchet shrugged and readjusted his hold on the fish. "Yeah, yeah, of course," He grumbled down the street back home.

* * *

"Where are we going?" A week later Antoinette was dragged out of the house (or more or less kicked out by Porthos due to his lady friend) in the middle of the afternoon. Holding tightly and leading the way was a frantic Aramis. He ushered through a lazy crowd.

He laughed merrily. "You'll see,"

She stopped the both of them. She turned him around. "This isn't one of your tricks, right?" Antoinette couldn't help but giggle as his ragged breath creeped closer and closer.

He closed the distance between them. He reopened his eyes to a lax Netta. He cradled the side of her face down her chin. "Far from it," His whispers tickled on her lips.

She gazed at his lips. "You know I don't like surprises too much,"

Aramis squinted his eyes at the pouring sun. His hands wrapped around her dainty wrists and pulled them to his ever beating heart. Loud and thumping wildly, she moved along his heart that matched her breath.

He swoop down to capture her lips once more. His hand never left hers. Intwined they walked the streets of Paris together. "You'll love this one," he promised.

Aramis led her down the street and took a left at the next curb. In sight was the shining palace of Notre Dame.

* * *

_There's a place that I know_

_It's not pretty there and few have ever gone_

_If I show it to you now_

_Will it make you run away?_

_Or will you stay?_

_Even if it hurts?_

_Even if I try to push you out_

_Will you return?_

_And remind me who I really am?_

_Please remind me who I really am._

_Everybody's got a dark side_

_Do you love me?_

_Can you love mine?_

_Nobody's a picture perfect_

_But we're worth it_

_You know that we're worth it_

_Will you love me?_

_Even with my dark side?_

_Like a diamond_

_From black dust_

_It's hard to know_

_What can become_

_If you give up_

_So don't give up on me_

_Please remind me who I really am_

_Everybody's got a dark side_

_Do you love me?_

_Can you love mine?_

_Nobody's a picture perfect_

_But we're worth it_

_You know we're worth it_

_Will you love me?_

_Even with my dark side?_

_Don't run away_

_Don't run away_

_Just tell me that you will stay_

_Promise me you will stay_

_Don't run away_

_Don't run away_

_Just promise me you will stay_

_Promise me you will stay._

_Will you love me? Ohh_

_Everybody's got a dark side_

_Do you love me?_

_Can you love mine?_

_Nobody's a picture perfect_

_But we're worth it_

_You know we're worth it_

_Will you love me?_

_Even with my dark side?_

_Don't run away,_

_Don't run away,_

_Just promise me you will stay_

_Promise me you will stay._

* * *

Morning seeped through the cracks. It would be unreal to say the flowers turned their petals or the birds chirped to sneak a peek through the stainless window. As a matter of fact, nothing of the sort had happened.

Within a moderately clean room, shapes hugged the blankets drawn across the bodies. Fresh linens were crumpled and wrinkled at the weight above them. Strands of hair adorned the crisp pillow like a sea of brunette.

Glimpses of nude skin were open to the air. Prickles of goosebump flesh cooled in the morning breeze. Draped around the woman's body was a hand to her small back. It caressed the soft muscles that eased out tension. Lying on her side she used his bare chest to act as the comfortable pillow the side of her face formed. Their left hands both gripped one another even in sleep. The wispy breaths rolled onto their skin and created another blanket around them. It acted as a barrier from the real world. In here, they need not the otherworldly intentions to grace the morning their presence.

Coiled fingers warmed the metal gripping their ring fingers. Precious and designed in a way that permenantly etched their belonging to one unity bonded them in the deepest of all intimate moments. Aramis' thumb twitched over the gold band she wore. His fluttered open.

Then he remembered. His moustache opened the curl of a smile. The deep sleep he wished to be back in was a momentary distraction. He gazed down at Antoinette's glowing figure on him. The slow flexes of his hand felt her bare back and trailed it up until drifts of her silky hair woven around his wrist. Fearing to arouse her out of a well-needed rest, he allowed her presence to sink him down further into the mattress.

But not without closing his eyes, feeling the cool metal she had given him only hours ago and for once let go of all his troubles. Whatever course was thrown in his way, they would face together. When she needed help, he would drop at a moment's notice to be at her side. The little gold jewelry around her finger symbolized his love and devotion he held only for her.

He moved her left hand to his lips and kissed the digit that belonged to him just as the finger on his belonged solely to her.

With that, two hearts became one and the rising sun quieted it's rays as it's gaze shifted elsewhere.

_Don't run away,_

_Don't run away,_

_Just promise me you will stay._

* * *

**THE END**


End file.
